The Notebook
by FlatOutCrazy
Summary: Modern. Slash. Snoddy came up with an idea. If they wanted to get laid, why look farther than their own circle of friends? Rating just to be safe. Complete.
1. The Idea

It was just a notebook. If you happened to look inside, you would notice filled pages, vague but detailed in their own way. There were dates, strange names, and crude drawings. The front bore no declaration of what was inside, no _Math Notes_ written in a hasty scrawl, no name.

The first line read in messy print, _Cowboy in Snoddy_. Next was _Blink and Dave_. _Mush, Itey. Snitch and Specs. Race and Skittery._ Further on, some of the names repeated themselves, different pairs were made, a few new names were introduced. Some notes were made, like _Careful, Race bites_ or _Snoddy's rough!_

But the very last written page was a little different. The writing had a desperate slant, a wild curl.

_I can't do this anymore. I just can't. It hurts too much, I care too much, I'm out. I'd say sorry, but I'm not. Not for this, anyway. Mitch._

The rest of the pages in the notebook were blank.

* * *

"Damn, there's nowhere to sit," Mike muttered to me. "What're we going to do?" His baby face made him look even younger than he already was, which wasn't always a good thing. Okay, it was almost never a good thing. He, James, and I had all started together at this prep pre-school. Our parents wanted to get us ahead. As in, _way_ ahead, ahead enough to jump ahead and skip a grade. Funny how they didn't wait to see if we'd want to; I was still four when they decided to throw us into kindergarten a year early. 

James looked warily around. "Well," he said hesitantly. "There's some room over there…" We all shrugged helplessly at each other for a few more minutes before a big senior shoved me out of his way.

"Move, kid, you're blocking the whole damn aisle!"

We scurried over to the free seats.

"Hi," Mike started as soon as we sat down. The other kids all turned slowly to stare. "Um, I'm Mike, this is Mitch, and James. We're freshman, aren't you freshman, I recognize you from my math class. Or is it English?" _Stop talking_, I telepathically ordered him. Which he did, but so abruptly that everyone was still staring at him. He dropped his gaze to his brown paper bag, face on fire.

"Um…yeah, we're freshman, and actually, it's history that we have together." One of them said finally. He had shiny brown hair. Really shiny. Like, blindingly so. I almost wanted to ask him what shampoo he used, but decided I just wouldn't look as good with blindingly shiny hair. And anyway, I was too shy to ever ask a question like that.

"Oh, yep, thought so, yeah," Mike was babbling again, this time nodding his head right along with.

"Hey, aren't you those freaky smart kids who started kindergarten when you were like two?" A blond kid broke in. He had an eye patch. A tall, skinny boy poked him.

"Actually, we were all around five. But…yeah." James said quietly. He's always uncomfortable talking in front of new people—not to mention we'd just been called freaks. I still hadn't even made eye contact with anyone.

"So, you're all super smart, right?"

"Well…"

"I mean, aren't you taking like all the advanced classes?"

"Yeah…"

"Sweet!" Eye Patch said enthusiastically. "Wanna do my math homework for me? Algebra?"

I exchanged a look with James and Mike. Algebra? In high school? We'd all taken algebra in seventh grade. We were used to being hit up for homework help but…algebra?

Okay, so our intelligence tended to make us a little snobbish. Hence the lack of friends.

"Sam," the gangly one who'd poked the eye patch kid earlier elbowed him. "You can't just ask random people to do your homework for you." Eye Patch pouted for a minute and turned to a curly haired boy to his left.

"Dave?" He asked. The curly haired boy, Dave (who's curls really were no match for Mike's), rolled his eyes and shook his head. Thankfully, Shiny Hair decided to introduce everyone.

"I'm Jack," he said with a dramatic hair flip. "The curly haired one over there is David, he's basically a genius. The one with the eye patch is Sam, little Italian kid over there is Tony, the skinny one's Jacob, the one with the glasses is Amos, and the Hulk over there's Nick. He's so big because he got held back in fourth grade, when they realized he still couldn't read."

"Jack," David reprimanded. Nick—who really was about as wide as Mike, James, and I put together—didn't seem to care. All of the sudden, the gangly one, Jacob, was glaring at me.

"Aren't you that asshole who stole Kendra Smith's wallet last week?" Oh, God. See, I kind of have this klepto problem. Sometimes I'm grabbing at people's wallets or jewelry before I even realize what I'm doing. Well, last week I'd seen a real nice wallet, and I had it in my hands before I even thought about taking it. The reason this made me such a huge asshole instead of just a thief is because Kendra Smith had just been mugged and raped a month earlier.

"I really didn't mean to take it," I muttered.

"How could you not mean to take it? You're a freaking thief!" He had such a look of disgust on his face that I shrank back, and Mike stepped in.

"Hey, look, he's sorry about it. He tried to give it back, and he turned himself in. You don't need to get—"

"Oh, sure, he felt bad about it when he realized _why_ Kendra was freaking out so much. But he didn't really _care_—"

"Shut up, you—"

"Hey, quit!" Jack bellowed over the two of them. They'd both half-risen, shouting, leaning in close. "Look, Jacob, Mitch said he felt bad about it, get off his case." Jacob opened his mouth to protest, but Jack held up a hand. "And Mitch, learn to keep your hands to yourself from now on." Everyone was quiet, but Jacob was still glaring knives in my direction. Later, I found out Kendra was Jacob's cousin, so he had extra reason to hate me for it.

"Hey, we can help you guys with homework and stuff if you need it," James broke the angry quiet. Mike immediately agreed with him, and when they looked to me, I nodded. I hated this. It was our way of groveling for friends, and it usually got us a spot at a lunch table for about a week, until the testwas over or eligibilitychecks were done, and no one needed to worry about their grade for a while.

"Oh, sure," Jack said, but David made an irritated noise beside him.

"I'm just as smart, if not smarter, than these guys, Jack, and I've got more social skills." Glad he was so tactful about it.

"Well, Davey, there's three of them. And you're always whining about how much we all depend on you for homework help, so this'll be good. You guys wanna sit with us at lunch from now on?" Sam and Nick didn't really seem to care, but everyone else looked mutinous. Jacob shook his head at me, disgusted. _Well, this week or two will certainly be fun, _I thought.

* * *

"Hey, Mitch, can you help me after school today?" Sam asked. I groaned inwardly. Sam was a nice guy, and he really wasn't stupid, the way he seemed. He was just so _lazy_. His work was sloppy, handwriting illegible, and if he didn't get a problem within the first two minutes, he happily gave up and moved on. I'd been helping him for almost three weeks, and it never got any better. 

"Uh, sure." I said, too guilty to turn him down. I'd been trying my hardest to get these guys to like me. I'd given up on respect a while ago, because there was just no way I was going to get it while playing teacher whenever they needed some help. Just then, I heard Nick make a quiet complaint to Jack,

"Dude, I need to get laid so bad. It's been almost a month since I last got any. I'm going nuts." Jack laughed and swept his hand around the table.

"Have your way, Nick," he said, the two of them still laughing. Nick's eyes suddenly went wide.

"Holy shit, great idea!" he cried. Everyone looked at him. "Guys, I just got a great idea!"

"I thought it was _my_ great idea," Jack muttered, but not really seriously, because he still had noclue _what_ the idea was.

"I know no one else here is getting any, and I definitely know I'm not. So. I got a plan." After he outlined his plan, I felt a little squeamish. A glance to Mike and James told me they shared my hesitance. His idea was to…well, "pass each other around," to use his exact words. Basically, no-strings-attached sex. And he wanted to keep record of it all in a notebook he put proudly in the middle of the table.

Everyone was agreeing audibly, and I felt like I was suffocating. We were all _guys_ here. Did this mean they were all gay? I had almost worked up the nerve to protest the whole thing when Jacob sneered at me,

"I bet you three little babies don't want in on this, huh? Too scared?"

"We're not scared!" I objected quickly, though my racing heart contradicted my words. "Of course we want in." Mike's eyes, wide and popping, screamed _What the hell?_ at me.

"Okay then. Let's have some ground rules," Jack said. "First off, is everyone clean? I mean, like, you know…?" He was too embarrassed to ask about STDs, and he wanted us all to be sleeping together? Everyone was nodding, like this was a completely normal question.

"Good. Still, guys, let's be smart, and everyone has to use protection." He ignored the few snickers that flitted around the table. "What else? Oh, we should all use nicknames, so no one knows who we are, in case they get the notebook or something. So, what's it gonna be?"

"Blink," Sam shrugged.

"Specs," Amos said in a bored tone.

"Racetrack."

"What the hell can I be?" Nick asked. Jack squinted at him for a minute.

"Hm…Snoddy." He declared. The other guys laughed, but apparently Mike, James, and I were outside of the joke. I felt like I was going to throw up.

"What about you, Jack? What're you gonna be?"

"Um…" Jack's ears tipped red. Was he blushing? "I'll be Cowboy." He muttered. I saw Tony—I mean, Racetrack—roll his eyes wearily. Quickly changing the subject, Jack added, "And David'll be the Walking Mouth." Again, some of the other guys laughed.

"Well, we got Snitch here," Jacob leered at me. I didn't protest, so Nick wrote it down along with the others. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I'd start screaming or crying, or possibly both.

"Jacob's gotta be Twitchy or something," Sam said, exasperated. "Your freaking leg's been bouncing for the last twenty minutes, and it's driving me nuts."

"Twitchy?" Tony asked incredulously, while Amos and Nick laughed at Sam.

"Well, I don't know!"

"Skittery," David said, and everyone agreed it fit.

"So, that just leaves you two." Jack looked thoughtfully at James and Mike, who both shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"Well, you can be Mush," Amos said to Mike. Everyone stared. "His skin's the same color as this oatmeal stuff my mom calls mush…" He trailed off, while Nick shrugged and wrote it down. Eight pairs of eyes and a single one focused on James. He flushed.

"Uh, Itey," he said, tongue-tied. "Just…yeah, Itey." I had to hold back my laughter. Itey was what I'd named my hamster in third grade.

"Okay, whatever. I thought of some more rules," Jack said. "First of all, we don't want people to know what we're up to, or else they'll think we're all queers or something." I noticed Sam laughed, but Jacob went a little red before dropping his eyes to the table. Interesting. "So, no one acts any different afterwards. Just pretend nothing happened."

"Do you think that's really a good idea?" David asked, and I appreciated him for the first time. "I mean, that's like…suppressing emotion, or something, and it's not good for you, and…" He stopped talking when he realized most of the guys were laughing at him.

"Anyway," Jack continued. "Before, you have to like…I don't know, get dinner or see a movie or something together. Like, a date first. I mean, yeah, it's all one-night stands, sort of, but…I don't know, we're still going to be friends, okay?" There was a small murmur of assent. I wanted to scream _I'm not friends with you people!_ I'd only known these guys for three weeks, and now they were talking about everyone having sex together! I felt a little frantic, to say the least.

"…Only three times with one guy before you've had everyone else." Jack smiled cheekily. "We wanna share the love."

"Speaking of love," Nick said seriously. "Don't do that. I mean, like, for this to work, it's gotta be no emotion. Don't be, like, falling in love. You homos," he added for good measure. Again, Jacob looked a combination of angry and guilty. I didn't see why, since these guys were _all_ obviously gay, too. I mean, they were planning random fucks between each other. I wondered if straight guys did that too. Then I wondered which I was, because although I was scared out of my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling of excited lust that followed Nick's bright idea.

* * *

A/N: Well, I don't know how I feel about that. I think it got a little boring when everyone was picking their names, but it was kind of necessary. Next will be the first night of the whole plan. And don't worry, the Newsie names are going to be used from here on out, so you don't have to worry about keeping track of the names I made up. (I mean, really, Amos? I couldn't think of anything else and I just re-read Goblet of Fire.) 


	2. Washing Sheets

Apparently, the qualities of my hands that make me a good thief—nimble, fast, and strong—were very good at certain other recreational endeavors. Specs was making it very clear to me that I was quite talented.

We were locked in his room, and I was under the impression that we were trying to be quiet, but apparently Specs didn't share that sentiment. Sure, he had the stereo cranked up, but it wasn't _that_ loud. I shushed him, but I was moaning almost as loud, as his hands weren't too shabby either, and I only got louder as he finally abandoned hands and switched to his mouth.

Earlier that day, we'd all decided that Jack should choose his…partner, I guess, first. He'd thought for a minute before glancing over at Snoddy and elbowing him. Ah, the eloquence of Jack. After that, he'd kind of left us all to our own devices. It felt like choosing teams at recess back in elementary school, and I got the same despairing feeling as more and more time passed without anyone voicing any desire to choose me. Although this was a bit different. I wanted to be picked, but if I didn't, it would be a good excuse. Finally, I welcomed but dreaded Specs's lewd comment.

"Well, we all know Snitch sucks his thumb, so…" He wiggled his eyebrows, and I almost cried. I didn't know if I was happy or not.

When Specs and I were done and lay on his bed, spent, I turned to face him.

"So…that was pretty good, huh?"

"God, Snitch, I can't even…I mean, good Lord, you have no idea." He was still panting, but he was laughing a little now, too. My head was on his chest, so every time he laughed, my head rose and fell on his chest.

* * *

I woke up naked, on the freezing hardwood floor of Specs's bedroom. I looked at the bed. Empty. I found my clothes and started pulling them on when I noticed the clock. It was three AM. Why the hell wasn't Specs in his bed? I crept out the door and saw him on the couch, his TV blaring.

"Hey…what are you doing?" I asked stupidly. Obviously, he was watching TV. He jumped and whirled to face me. His eyes got hard, and he turned back to face the TV.

"I think you should go," he said without looking at me.

"What?"

"Go. Go home. Somewhere. Just…get outta here."

I just stood there for a minute, before he exhaled loudly and stood up, grabbed my arm, and positively _flung_ me from the house. Offended and hurt beyond all reason, I ambled home and had to sneak in through the basement window.

At school, I tried to talk to Specs, but he brushed me aside coldly. I still couldn't understand what the hell was going on.

"Snitch," Cowboy hissed at me in Spanish. For once, my huge ugly buckteeth weren't sticking out. I was trying so hard not to just jam my thumb in my mouth for comfort that I had my bottom teeth biting my top lip.

"Snitch," he repeated. "Try not to be so hurt about it. No emotions, remember? He's just following the rules." I dropped my head to my hands.

"But…he was so emotional _during_ it, how can he just change his mind?" I asked, horribly conscious of how my voice quavered at the end. Jack patted my arm sympathetically, albeit awkwardly. He wasn't really the comforting type.

"Just don't think about it." He advised. This was not very good advice, and I finally succumbed to the temptation and let my thumb find it's way to my mouth. And I swear, I tasted irony, as our teacher asked us to please write down the six conjugations for the verb lastimar—to hurt.

"We're going again," Jack said excitedly at lunch three days later. Mechanically, I stuck my thumb in my mouth. I hadn't sucked my thumb in public since the second grade. This was the second time in a week.

Everyone was pairing off, and I sat listlessly, waiting to be matched up with whoever was left. I ended up with Snoddy, and it scared me out of my mind. Snoddy was a _lot_ bigger than me. I eyed him warily. He didn't seem to notice, or he just didn't care.

Specs had been my first. I don't think any of the guys would've been surprised to hear that. So I didn't really realize that different people had different, ah,_mannerisms_, though it was stupid of me.

Snoddy didn't say a word, not one, the whole time. Wordlessly, we ate dinner at some cheap, fluorescent-lighted restaurant. Wordlessly, he took me to his house and led me to his room. And wordlessly, he shoved me onto his bed andripped off my pants. I was caught completely off-guard.

He had no sense of foreplay, or romantic ideas, or anything. He didn't kiss me, didn't stroke my hair, didn't even want a hand job or a blowjob first. He shoved me right into the position he wanted and set to work. And it hurt like hell. I hadn't gone that far with Specs. I wasn't under the impression we'd be going that far.

But we most definitely were.

I was biting my tongue, the inside of my cheeks, my lips, anything to keep from crying out. I couldn't see, because my eyes were screwed up in pain. Underneath the pain—far, far underneath—there was a little pleasure. But I couldn't reach it, couldn't really feel it, because I was screaming in my head. I didn't want this, didn't want his breath against my back and shoulders, didn't want him inside me.

I'd kind of liked my little 'adventure' with Specs, as I'd taken to calling it in my head. But this was horrible. Snoddy was the complete epitome of no emotion. No moans here. The only sounds in the room were soft squeaks from the bed, our labored breathing, and a little, muffled grunt every now and then from Snoddy. I kept my teeth firmly clenched, certain I'd be screaming and crying if I didn't. After he was done, he spoke for the first time.

"Specs said you're good with your hands," he said quietly. I knew what he wanted, and I quickly complied. Still, he made no sound, though this timehis body language was most definitely not quiet. He wouldn't even look me in the eye, which gave me the horrible feeling that he only wanted me there for one thing.

And it wasn't my pleasurable company.

As soon as we were done, he turned away from me and curled up under his blankets. He wouldn't even let his feet brush mine. I faced the other way, too, and mindlessly sucked my thumb. Instead of thinking about what had just happened, I let my mind run through "Remember the Titans," my favorite movie, in its entirety. That was my diversion tactic whenever my mind was playing tricks on me and wouldn't let me sleep.

See, I'm a really light sleeper, and I always think I hear people sneaking into the house. Something about being a thief made me more vulnerable to paranoia of others like myself, who just couldn't keep their hands off other people's property. Except it wasn't really the stealing that worried me. I was always afraid of being butchered in the night. My big brother used to tell me these awful stories when we'd shared a room together. To this day, his stories come back and flit through my mind. I don't think he ever knew how badly they really did scare me.

Oddly, no crazy men yielding butcher's knives haunted my dreams that night. Instead, my panicked mind brought up scene after scene of big, burly men slinking silently through my window, rolling me onto my stomach, their hot, stinking breath against my neck—

I forced myself awake before I could scream aloud. Snoddy was still as far away from me as he could get without falling off the bed, and suddenly the room was too small. There was no air--Icouldn't breathe. For the second time that week, I found myself sneaking back into my bedroom. But this time, each step made me wince, every movement made me stifle a cry. I sought comfort in the burrows of my bed. I still had my shoes on. My mind finally roved over what had happened, and I replayed the whole thing.

Suddenly, I needed to shower. I was so dirty. I looked at my skin. There was no visible sign of anything that had gone on, but I could feel a layer of grime on me. A glance at the clock told me it was one in the morning. The sound of the shower would wake my parents, and they'd ask questions. I couldn't lie in my bed anymore—I'd contaminated the sheets with my filthiness. I pulled the covers up and wadded them into a large ball, shoving into my hamper. My mom would find them and wash them for me, wondering why they were there. I realized my whole room was dirty, so I started cleaning it feverishly.

I couldn't shake my uncleanliness anymore, and decided my parents could ask all the questions they wanted. I got in the shower. It was so loud. I scrubbed at my legs for ten minutes before realizing I hadn't bothered to soap down. Just then, my dad had poked his head in my bathroom door, and I obligingly stuck my head out of the gap between the shower curtain and the wall.

"Mitchell? Why are you taking a shower at one thirty in the morning?" I was holding the soap so tight it was molding into the shape of my hand. Dad must've glanced around my room and noticed the bare mattress, because a look of comprehension crossed his face. He gave me a knowing look.

"Dreaming?" He asked significantly, with a tilt of his head. It took me nearly a minute to connect what he was trying to say. My stomach rolled over.

"Um…yeah…sorry."

"Oh, don't be sorry. It's completely normal." _No, it's really not._ He gave me a little wink. "Ah, girls are getting prettier every day, aren't they?" He shot another stupid little wink at me and left.

I wanted to scream at him. Instead, I scrubbed my whole body, over and over, trying to get rid of my dirtiness. As I cuddled into the spare sheets my dad had so thoughtfully left on my bed for me, a sudden thought came to me.

Did that count as rape? Immediately, I shoved the thought away. I'd never vocally told Snoddy no. I'd never given him reason to stop, had I? So it couldn't be called rape. What was it, then? I hadn't wanted it. Just thinking of it made me feel nauseas. Why had I been so willing to accept a blowjob, to dish out a hand job and a blowjob myself, but didn't want anything else? Wouldn't it be normal and natural to want to go further? Teenage boys supposedly think about sex every six seconds or something like that. Well, what was wrong with me? Maybe I just hadn't been ready.

As I drifted off to sleep, knowing I would jerk awake again in a half hour or so, driven from sleep by my dreams, I felt a little guilty for leaving Snoddy alone in his bed. Hadn't I been so dejected and confused when Specs had made _me_ feel rejected? Then I remembered how carefully Snoddy hadarranged himself--far away from me, no touch passing between us.

I'd been alone the whole time anyway.

* * *

School was not easy the next day. Everyone was highly rambunctious, as it was the lastday separating us from Christmas break. Teachers had mostly given up teaching. But that left the students to talk amongst ourselves. A few of the guys had noticed my slow, painful gait, and I was the butt end of many jokes. Snoddy didn't seem to care that I'd left him there. He still wasn't talking to me or making eye contact, but then, he never had.

At lunch, Jack decided we should make arrangements for the break in advance.

"Let's get the Fuck Festival all planned out, boys," he said with a wicked grin. I nearly cried. The thought of someone pushed up against me, touching me, thrusting…I shuddered unwillingly. Mike (who I still couldn't bring myself to think of as Mush) was sitting next to me, and quietly asked me if I was okay. I didn't answer him at all, because Jack was dolling out partnerships. Apparently, his Christmas gift—whether to himself or us, I didn't know—was to choose our pairings for us.

And who did he choose to set me with? With an evil little laugh, I heard my name and another's being called, the other's name making me freeze. I didn't want to meet his eyes, because I knew they'd be narrowed in some cold glare.

Skittery. Jack put me with Skittery.

* * *

Madloves sent out to madmbutterfly713 and OxymoronicAlliteration for being my two reviewers. I send squee-worthy versions of your favorite Newsie in your general directions. 


	3. Ramen

I spent the weekend trying (and failing) to relax. All I could think about was how sometime over what was supposed to be a leisurely break, I'd have to spend a whole night with a guy who hated me. Happy holidays, Mitch. I wanted to kill Jack. Then, at about six on Monday night, Skittery called.

"Hey, uh, you wanna get it over with tonight?"

"Well…sure," I said reluctantly. I didn't want to get it over with at all. But as soon as I thought about telling him that, I remembered that sneer. I hated his stupid glaring face. Well…okay, I didn't hate his face. In fact, his face was very nice…

I pulled myself together as he gave me directions to his house. He lived about three blocks away, so rather than subject myself to endless questions, I decided to walk. I tried to kill an hour by watching TV, but my palms were so sweaty I kept dropping the remote. Finally, I zipped up my jacket and hesitated around the front door.

_It's not like he'd be disappointed if I don't show_. I thought to myself. Someone knocked on the door and burst through. It was three of my cousins who lived down the street. My five-year-old twin brothers came sprinting down the hall, howling like Indians, with my two-year-old sister toddling hot in pursuit. The decibel level reached unhealthily skyward, so I made my escape before I got roped into babysitting the hooligans. It happened often.

"Uh, hi." Skittery said awkwardly when he opened the door. We stood staring at each other for a minute before he pulled the door open wider to let me in. Good thing, too, because I was freezing.

"So, I thought maybe we'd eat some dinner and watch a movie before…uh, yeah." I noticed he kept running his hands through his hair and licking his lips. He had nice lips.

"Um, sure, sounds fine," I shrugged. I glanced around his house. It was gigantic, and every color blended neatly together. But something was weird. I struggled to place it, because everything looked perfect.

There were no pictures on the walls. No candid shots, no family portraits, no smiling, chubby-cheeked baby Skittery. I'd never been in a house without any pictures on the walls. When I asked about it, he stammered out that they were redecorating, so the pictures had all been taken down. It was a normal answer, but his eyes were down and his ears were red. I decided not to press the issue.

He led me to a large, shiny kitchen. It looked almost space age, all silver and shiny with small touch-pad faces.

"Um, I'll make us some food, if you want to pick out a movie," he said, pointing his head toward a room adjoined with the kitchen. It had the biggest TV I'd ever seen, with a huge couch in front of it. Videos and DVDs were arranged alphabetically on shelves lining the walls. It felt like a video store.

I couldn't help but think it was quite sexy of him to be cooking. Every second alone with him was making me start to like him. I thought it was kind of cute how he was stuttering over his words. I chose a random Adam Sandler flick off one of the lower shelves and sat stiffly on the couch.

"So, uh, why'd you decide to start kindergarten early?" He called from the kitchen. Inwardly, I groaned. Why was I always seen as solely 'one of the kids who started kindergarten early'? Surely there were other kids besides James, Mike, and I who had skipped a grade?

"Well, it wasn't really my decision," I told him. "I was only four, so my parents made the call. I don't know why they did." I had gotten very good at keeping the bitterness out of my voice when I said the last sentence. Just then, Skittery came in, carrying a tray with two Root Beers and two steaming bowls of…Ramen. Some master chef he was. When I laughed, he raised an eyebrow.

"Not a Ramen fan?" He asked.

"Oh, I am, I was just a little impressed because I thought you were cooking."

"I _was_ cooking."

"Dude, anyone can make Ramen. That's not cooking." I was laughing, and he took that as a good sign, I guess, because he tossed me a can and set the tray on the coffee table before taking the DVD out of my hands and popping it in. He kicked off his shoes and settled back into the couch, so I followed suit. No need to be uncomfortable, after all. We ate quietly for a minute, until—

_Slurp._

_Sllllluuuuurp._

_Slurp slurp slurrrrrp._

I looked over at him. A long noodle was dangling from his mouth and over his chin, and he was shaking with quiet laughter. He was slurping on purpose, so I joined in and we made kind of a slurping symphony.

Finally, we couldn't slurp through our laughter anymore, so we gave up. He had noodles and juice all over his chin, and without thinking, I reached over and wiped it off with my hand. Things got kind of awkward again, and I quickly withdrew my hand.

After a minute, he broke the silence, but this time with actual words.

"So, you don't like being a grade ahead?"

"Oh, uh," I sputtered, trying to find the right words. "Well, it's not that I don't like it, exactly, but…it's just kind of hard, because I'm kind of small anyway, and then, if you add in being a year younger…I don't know." He nodded, and we slipped into silence again.

"Do you play any sports?" I asked him. Like before, his eyes dropped downward and his ears went red.

"Um…I used to play baseball, but…I didn't really like it." He said evasively. Clearly, the get to know you questions weren't going to work very well with both of us being so guarded, so I quit asking them and settled for quoting the movie. Soon, he joined me, and we were laughing again.

An hour later, we'd eaten our way through a bag of pretzels and another package of Ramen each. We'd put on another movie, this time Independence Day, but weren't really watching it, because we were seeing who was better at throwing popcorn in the air and catching it in our mouths. I'm proud to say I was winning. Why had I not liked him? He was awesome. I was getting new bubbles in my stomach, but it wasn't nervous holy-crap-he-hates-me bubbles, it was oh-my-God-I-think-I'm-starting-to-_like_-him-like-him bubbles. It was kind of nice.

Somewhere between the pretzels and the Cheetos, we'd moved closer together, and after he put Moulin Rouge in (okay, so we're losers, big deal), we somehow ended up cuddling. We were both starting to doze off, so we decided to get horizontal. Not like that, get your mind out of the gutter (although that was originally the whole purpose of my going over to his house…hmm). We just spread out across the couch. Not that I'm complaining. By then, it was well past midnight, and I fell asleep as Ewan McGregor started singing "Come What May." My head was on Skitts's chest, and he had one arm around my waist and the other resting on my hip. It was a little uncomfortable, what with both of us having skinny-boy jutting bones, but the last thing I remember thinking before drifting off was that I'd rather spoon with him on a too-small couch than anyone else, andI wasgoing to get Jacka very nice Christmas present.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning,Skittery's arm was wrapped tightly around my throat, almost choking me, and my fingers were snaked through his hair. I noticed a touch guiltily the orange powdered cheese now caked into his brown waves. Moving slowly, so as not to wake him up, I tried to dust it out with my palm, and only succeeded in smacking his head several times. He jerked awake, understandably a little irritated, so I gave him a big, cheesy grin. He blinked a few times, then smiled back. 

We untangled ourselves with great difficulty, because neither of us _actually_ wanted to very badly. Finally, my growling stomach and his full bladder (which I was laying on and aggravating the problem) drove us from the couch. He had just scrounged around and found some Pop Tarts for us to eat when the door creaked open and a middle-aged woman rushed up the stairs. He glanced at me, shrugged, and tossed me a pack of Pop Tarts. As the woman rushed back down, he called,

"Bye, Mom!" She jumped a little and skidded into the kitchen quickly.

"Oh, bye, Joseph, be good, honey." When she was gone, I turned to him curiously.

"Joseph?" He scratched uncomfortably at his neck before casually tearing into his breakfast.

"My big brother. We look a lot alike; sometimes my parents get us mixed up. Usually she corrects herself, but she was in a hurry, so…" He shrugged again.

"Yeah, I know how that is," I laughed. "Is it just you and your brother?" He said yes and quickly changed the subject to my family, which led us into a long conversation, because he couldn't imagine being one of six. My parents had had my older brother, me, and my sister a year under me, then hadn't been able to have any more kids for six and a half years. I always said they should've been more careful what they wished for, because the twins were absolute terrors.

I didn't like leaving him alone in that huge, drafty house, and plus, I just wanted to spend more time with him, so I invited him over to my house. I warned him that we would get stuck babysitting not only my younger siblings, but also my aunt and uncle's kids, who for some reason were _always_ over, but he said it was fine. We walked very close together (for warmth, of course), and about half way there, our hands mysteriously became entwined. I glanced at him, a huge, goofy grin across my face, and he returned it, adding a wink.

Winter, I decided, is definitely the best season of all.

* * *

Did you know that Cheetos has an official website? Crazy. 

Madmbutterfly713—We shall see about Spot. I'm currently undecided, but you may push me into it. Ah, peer pressure!

Rustie73—Thanks a bunch!

Jacky Higgins—You make me blush. But no, Snitch isn't asexual, as you've probably deduced from this chapter (haha deduced is a funny word), but it certainly is an interesting idea…

Oxymoronic Alliteration—I didn't do anyshout-outs for chapter one, so I'm just doing it now. Thanks a ton!

And I should put this warning...the next chapter will be fluff-full.


	4. Trampoline and Cookies

We got to my house at a little past noon. I shrugged off my jacket and kicked my shoes into the giant mess by the door, and Skitts awkwardly followed suit. My shoes were strewn haphazardly, but I noticed he placed his neatly side by side, out of the doorway. As soon as she heard the door close, my mom came bustling in.

"Mitchy!" She cried, as she always did, as if it were _such_ a fortunate miracle that I was home, conveniently when she needed me. She explained why she just absolutely _had_ to go out, and couldn't take any of the kids, and would I mind watching them, and by the way, Lisa and Tim's kids were over; that was fine, wasn't it?

"Where's Lindsey?" I asked irritably.

"Oh, she's over at her friend's house. And anyway, she's too young to be babysitting all these kids, you know that."

"Mom, she's only a year younger than me."

"But you're just so much more _mature_, honey." I didn't bother pointing out that girls mature faster than boys, so technically she should be more mature than me, because there just wasn't a point. My mom had decided hours ago that I'd be babysitting, so I was babysitting.

"Oh, hello," my mom added breathlessly as she noticed Skittery for the first time. "And who are you?"

"Um…"

"Mom, this is my…my friend, Jacob." He was my friend; that was true. Was he more than that? Well, yes, but _what_? Anyway, I wasn't sure how my mom would respond to the name Skittery, so I played it safe.

"Oh, I've never met you before. Nice to meet you." Skitts smiled warmly at my mother, and I saw her melting. He really did have an amazing smile.

"It's very nice to meet you, ma'am. You have such a lovely home. Did you decorate it yourself?" Why, thank you, yes she did, and did you know, it was just so _easy,_ really, everyone was astonished and…

"Okay, Mom, Skitts and I are gonna go jump on the trampoline, tell us when you're leaving." I decided to jump in and save him from all the gory details about when we moved in, and how _bare_ everything was, and how _brown_, and just _sad_. She furrowed her brow at my mention of Skitts, but my mom is a pretty smart lady, and she's used to kids and weird nicknames, so she figured it out pretty fast.

We had to kind of sneak out to the backyard, because if we weren't careful, we'd end up with six little rug rats. Unfortunately, my youngest sister, Morgan, has almost dog-like hearing. It's very selective, of course, and it just so happened that she wanted to jump on the trampoline, so her ears were trained for the sound of the sliding door opening. She came tearing out of the toy room so fast she slipped and went sprawling, but that didn't stop her.

"Hey!" She screamed. I cringed and tried to shush her. She held her arms up expectantly and pointedly. Sighing, I gave in and picked her up. I heard more scrabbling little feet and next thing I knew, my cousin Timmy was on my back, his sister Katie on my right leg and little Elizabeth attached to the left.

All my limbs occupied, I saw the twins eyeing Skittery. I opened my mouth to warn him, or tell them to stop, or something, and Morgan's hand immediately deposited a half-eaten, very soggy graham cracker in the new cavity. I gagged, and by the time I recovered, it was too late. The boys had taken a running start. Luckily, their thundering tennis shoes alerted Skitts, and he caught both of them, one in each arm, around the waist. They were screaming in absolute delight as he whirled them around a few times, making Morgan knock on my head a few times.

"Me too!" She demanded.

Well. Spinning is considerably harder with munchkins on your legs, back, and in your arms, so luckily, I had the good sense to ignore her. Instead, I took the howling children out to the backyard and dumped them none too gracefully on the trampoline. I glanced over at Skitts, a small scowl firmly in place across my face, to find him being accosted by the children.

Keith was twisting Skittery's nose in a variety of different ways, seeing what it looked like pushed to the left, then the right, now how about smushed flat against his face? His twin, Kyle, was very interested in Skitts's ears—folding them over, looking deep into them, hoping to catch a glimpse of that elusive eardrum. Morgan was pulling his hair, Katie was tugging at his arm and asking if he'd spin her around next, and Timmy, the youngest of all of them, had simply plopped himself into Skittery's lap.

I had to laugh a little at the terrified look Skittery was giving me. Roughhousing, he could do. Watching kids from a safe distance, he was used to. But having them _right there_, in his face, was completely new to him.

"Babies make me kind of nervous," he admitted.

"We're not babies!" Keith yelled immediately, giving Skitts's nose a particularly hard poke. To any five year old, being called a baby is an insult worthy of death. To distract him, I snatched Keith up and started jumping. It was a trampoline, after all.

Within seconds, all the little ones were screaming and laughing, and Skitts started to loosen up with them. Who could stay tense surrounded by laughing kids? We were having ourselves a ball when I heard my mother's voice.

"Well, it's three days before Christmas, and here's the kids and Lisa and Tim's kids, and Mitchy's friend Jacob, jumping on the trampoline." I groaned when I looked up and noticed the video camera staring down at us in place of my mother's eyes. She has this thing about catching "the magic of everyday life" onto tape. And my father had encouraged it further by getting her one of those DVD camcorders for her birthday.

"Ah, Mom, stop," I moaned. When Skittery noticed the camera, his eyes shot to me, down to the kids, back up to the camera, and he ducked his head. His jumping became more awkward. When the twins noticed the camera, they preened and started hamming it up. They loved being taped, and begged my mom to take it out at least three times a week.

"Alright, alright," my mom said unhappily. "But I'm leaving. So why don't you guys come on in the house?" When the kids started protesting (Skitts winced, because Kyle had gone back to his ears), the poor woman added, "You can watch a movie!"

Like that really compensated for being dragged from the trampoline. But we forced them in the house, enduring many screams and wails, and turned on _The Little Mermaid_. My parents had booked it out of the house while we'd been taking care of the rugrats, so once we locked the door and escaped up the stairs, I felt free to grab Skittery's hand and give it a little squeeze. He went a little red, but smiled and squeezed back.

"What do you want to do?" I asked him. He shrugged and looked around.

"Is that you?" He pointed to the pictures on the mantel, and I rolled my eyes.

"Yes. My mom has this obsession with getting pictures taken. All of us have to get individual shots, then just the girls, then just the boys, then all the kids, then her and dad, then the whole family together. It's such a pain." I said with a careless kind of exasperated laugh, not really thinking about what I was saying.

"What a little cutie," Skitts teased, pointing out one of the first pictures ever taken of me. I was about two weeks old, and my mom had dressed me in a tiny suit, complete with tie. I was screaming, my face squinched up and my hands balled into little fists. And I was hopelessly bald.

He was staring at the pictures with hungry eyes. The living room was littered with pictures of all the kids, but he seemed to like the candid ones the best. There was me, on my fourth birthday, fighting with my three-year-old sister over a Fudgsicle. We were both screaming, and had chocolate ice cream smeared all over ourselves. There were the twins, curled up together last Christmas among the discarded wrapping paper, thumbs in their mouths and arms around each other. My older brother, playing football. My youngest sister, being potty trained. These were all just everyday things to me—I saw them everyday, thinking nothing of them in my rush of life, and could remember most of them happening.

"There's so many," Skitts whispered in awe. I suddenly remembered his bare walls, and a rush of pity shot through me. I didn't think they were really remodeling. There just weren't any pictures. The spell was broken by shouts coming from the kids downstairs.

"The troops are getting restless," he said with a rueful grin. God, he was the most adorable creature on the face of the earth. I just wanted to hold him against me for the rest of time. As I stared lustfully at him, a burst of inspiration hit me. Hey, he's an inspiring figure. I got _tons_ of ideas from watching him…although I must admit almost none of them had anything to do with quieting the youngsters down.

"I think I know what we can do to calm them down," I said confidently, heading down the stairs. A disaster scene met us. Clearly, the Little Mermaid just wasn't quite enthralling enough to keep them entertained. They'd brought toys out of the toy room, which my mom was always griping about, but never took any action against. Currently, Katie, Elizabeth, and Morgan were playing Barbies, Timmy was asleep, and the twins were wrestling. Arms were flailing, legs were flying, and they were yelling. The girls were apparently unperturbed by this, and Timmy could sleep through a hurricane.

I grabbed Keith easily, leaving Kyle panting on the floor.

"Hey, if you guys calm down and be quiet and watch the movie, me and Skittery will go make cookies." You'd have thought I offered them all a million dollars, with the reaction they gave. A naked Barbie whizzed through the air, narrowly missing my head, as the girls screamed excitedly. I shushed them roughly, checking to make sure Timmy was still asleep, but, like I said, the kid slept like a rock.

This time, I put in Peter Pan—a much better movie, in my opinion, which would hopefully _shut them up_ for at least ten minutes. I admit, I was a little bitter about the whole babysitting thing. I wasn't even getting paid.

"We're making cookies?" Skittery asked skeptically. "I don't know how to make cookies. Do you?" I shrugged noncommittally.

"How hard could it be?"

Well. Very hard. I didn't think cooking was real rocket science, but apparently it's a fine art. But we did enjoy ourselves quite a bit, having a flour fight, cracking eggs, and throwing chocolate chips at each other. When the dough finally went in the oven, we were smudged and out of breath from laughing. I had visions of wiping the flour from his nose, our eyes meeting, leaning in, our lips drawing together…

"Snitch?" I was shaken out of my lovely daydream by Skittery's face, very close to mine. We'd both wanted to kiss, and while I'd been daydreaming about it, Skittery had decided to take action. My breath started slowing as he moved in closer. His eyes closed, and I followed his lead.

It wasn't long or passionate. It was short, quick, and there was no tongue—just a little peck, really. But his lips were warm, and his breathing matched mine, and I knew I'd never felt anything more wonderful.

We burned the cookies, but we were both dazed and didn't notice until smoke started wafting out of the oven. I found some ice cream in the freezer to make up for the lack of cookies, and me and Skitts kept shooting silly grins at each other. My mother asked later why my cheeks were flushed, and the only response she got was a goofy half-smile. She shook her head and left me alone.


	5. That Evil Phone

"Hey, it's getting dark, I better…I better go home." Skittery sounded reluctant, and I know_I_ wilted.

"Well…is anyone home at your house?" I just kept picturing that big old house, with my poor little Skittsy wandering around, alone. He shrugged.

"Probably not." He had a distant, pained look in his eyes, like he was remembering something fun that he couldn't get back to.

"So, stay here. My parents won't mind. You're not getting paid for babysitting. Not with money, anyway," I added, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively. I wanted to bring him back to me, to now. He laughed and gave me a little shove. His laugh was the most perfect sound in the world. It was one of those extremely dorky laughs, and the first time you heard it, your mind was made up—either you loved it or you hated it.

My choice was pretty obvious, I think.

"Are you sure your parents won't mind?" He asked seriously. His sudden mood change startled me. We'd been playing and laughing all day—what was there to be serious about?

"Sure, they'll be fine. We can ask, if it really bothers you that much." I yelled for me mom, and as we waited for her to come up the stairs, we amused ourselves by seeing who could be more daring with where their hand was placed. He won, and left me gasping.

"Mom, is it okay if Skittery stays over tonight?" I asked, as soon asshe'd comeup the stairsand we'd guiltily sprung apart.

"Of course," she said warmly. "He _did_ help you babysit." I sent him a smug look and he rolled his eyes at me. "Would you like us to drive you to your house so you can pick up some pajamas, or whatever it is teenage boys sleep in these days?"

"Oh…sure, I guess."

As we scrambled for the car, I got my revenge on him. My dad wasn't looking, and Skittery was clambering into the back seat, so I reached up and goosed him. He gasped and whirled around.

"_Snitch_!" He sound seriously appalled, but little giggles were bubbling out, too, so he wasn't being real serious or intimidating.

"What?" I asked innocently. My dad turned in his seat to see what the hold up was, so we fell silent. But on the drive over, in between giving my dad directions, Skittery's hand on my thighcrept higher…and higher…and…

"Oh, we're here," he said, giving me an evil smirk. I was disappointed and relieved at the same time. Disappointed, obviously, that his hand hadn't _quite_ made it to the objective body part. But relieved, because if it had, I don't think I'd have been able to…hold back, you know, and my dad was right there in the front seat.

As soon as we were out of sight of my dad, I sighed and grabbed Skittery's hand.

"This is gonna be _hard_," I whined. Not what you're thinking. That was _already_ hard. "It's not fair! You'll be in my room all night, but my parents are right next door!" He was leading me up the stairs so he could grab some clothes, but he paused and turned to me.

"So we'll be quiet," he whispered in my ear. Well. I was definitely hoping my dad wouldn't be looking at me very closely, because he would notice some very embarrassing, ah, enlargements, if you will.

"Skittery." It came out as a half-groan, half-whimper, and I had to push myself against him. He was longing for me as much as I was for him, I could tell from his kiss. This was not the sweet kiss we'd shared hours earlier. This was an oh-my-God-I-want-you-so-bad-right-now kiss. Tongues grazed over teeth, lips crushed together, and hands roamed all over. I moved to his neck, being gentle, because that was how I liked it, so surely, he'd appreciate it as well?

Yes, as it turns out. He appreciated it very, very much.

"Snitch," he panted, pulling away. "Your dad is right outside, waiting for us. We can't…we just…" His voice was strangled. I rested my forehead against his.

"You're right." Neither of us was happy about this. He led me the rest of the way up the stairs, both of us trying to regain some composure. But we weren't as playful as before. Now, there was this tension hanging between us. _Sexual tension_. We had to be a little more careful with where our hands were, because we knew what we wanted, but we couldn't do it right then. It was honestly painful.

"You get lost in that giant house?" My dad chuckled at his own joke, and Skittery laughed weakly. I didn't even make an attempt. On the ride back to my house, my hand was fiercely clenched with Skittery's, and our legs were pressed together. But it was sad compensation, and not even close to what I wanted.

We went immediately to my room, but suddenly, everything was awkward. My little sister was home, in her room on the phone with a friend. I could hear my parents talking in the kitchen, and the twins and Morgan watching SpongeBob SquarePants. We couldn't have sex in my bedroom! Not with everyone home. What if someone walked in? I could lock the door. What if someone heard us? Or tried to come in, and then wondered why the door was locked?

"Skitts…I don't think…" He cut me off with a nod.

"I know," he said softly. "We can't." We sat glumly staring at each other before my mom came in.

"Mitchy? Someone's on the phone for you. Someone named Jack?" I felt like someone had shocked me. A jolt went through my stomach. I looked quickly to Skittery. His eyes were wide, and he looked as stricken as I felt.

"Oh…okay." Numbly, I followed my mom to the kitchen and took the phone back to my room.

"H-hello?" My voice shook, and I cleared my throat.

"Heya, Snitch. How's your break been going?"

"Um…good." I said calmly, while in my head I was screaming _Cut the small talk! Just get to the point!_ I was shaking. Skitts grabbed my hand and gave it a crushing squeeze.

"Okay, so here's the deal. Are you free tomorrow night? We want to get the next night done with before Christmas." Was I still breathing? My head felt kind of fuzzy.

"Um…I guess so." My mouth was betraying me. I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to tell him I was currently having all the bones in my hand broken by Skittery, and that I really didn't mind. I wanted to tell him I didn't want to play his little game anymore.

"Okay, great," he said easily. He sounded like he didn't have a care in the world. "Well, you're with me this time. I've been pretty anxious toget with you, Snitch…" he suddenly sounded a little embarrassed. "Specs and Snoddy both said you were just…amazing." He laughed a little. "So, um, tomorrow at, say, seven?" He told me where to meet him, while I took deep breaths and tried not to throw up.

"By the way, do you have any idea where Skittery's been? Snoddy said he tried calling all day today and couldn't get a hold of him. They're together this time." He didn't even wait for an answer, just left me with a chirpy little good-bye and a dial tone.

I let the phone plop to the ground and dropped myself right onto Skittery's lap.

"Tomorrow." I whispered. "Tomorrow night." He shifted under me. I turned my head to look at him. His face was mirroring my thoughts.

"What are we going to do?" His voice was so dejected, I wanted to cry. But I also had this insane feeling of laughter. The whole situation was so ludicrous! I'd only really met Skittery _yesterday_, but it felt like so much longer. My life before him seemed hazy, like it hadn't really happened, or hadn't really mattered.

"Well…we could tell them all that we don't want to…do this anymore." My voice was tentative, but the idea was blazing in my head. They were our friends, right? They'd be happy for us. But Skitts was shaking his head sadly and reached for my hand again.

"We can't, Snitchy. I know them better than you. They're not…" He chose his words carefully. "Tolerant. They're not very tolerant."

"How can they not be?" I asked, confused. "Skittery, they sleep with other boys. How could they not be tol—"

"Snitch, I know," he cut me off. "But they think it doesn't make them…gay." I gaped at him.

"_Doesn't make them gay_? How could they _not_ be?"

"I know it doesn't make any sense! But have you ever noticed how they treat that kid, Alex, the one who came out to his parents last year?" He shoved his hair roughly off his forehead. "They push him around, call him names, I've even seen Snoddy take a swipe at him once or twice!" He was up and pacing now, angry. "They're just such—such jerks, Snitch, and I don't want them to treat _us_ that way!"

"But we're their _friends_. Maybe they won't be like that to us." I said it quietly, but I believed it whole-heartedly. Friends cared about each other. Friends supported each other. It would be fine, wouldn't it?

"They _would_ treat us like that. They will." His bitterness made me wonder about him again. What the _hell_ had happened to him, to make him so cynical? He was just a kid. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Well, then what are we going to do?" I challenged. If he knew everything, what was his answer to our problem now? He ran a hand over his eyes.

"I guess we're just gonna hafta…do it." I blanched and felt my heart give a whopping _thud_.

"You—you want to just—you want to—"

"I don't want to." This was the Skittery I had forgotten existed over the past two days. This was the quiet, withdrawn Skittery. This wasn't the Skittery who had laughed and teased and played around. This was the Skittery Race had dubbed "Glum and Dumb" because he was so depressed all the time. Gloomily, I stared at him. He stared back at me. But then he bit his lip.

"Well…we could still be, you know, together. Just keep it a secret." I squirmed a little. I'm not good at keeping secrets, and plus, he wasn't something I wanted to keep quiet. But I could see his reasoning, even if I didn't like it. I nodded unhappily, and he came back over to me, taking a seatleaning against the bedand gently putting his arms around my waist. He kissed me softly on the temple, right where my hair ended and my skin was left bare. I leaned into him.

"I don't want to keep you a secret," I said sullenly. He laughed, his cute little horsey laugh, and made me feel a little better.

"Well, think of it this way," he replied, shifting and making himself more comfortable against my back. "We're having a secret love affair." I waited for him to finish his though, but apparently that was the whole thing.

"Uh, what other way was I thinking of it?" I asked with a helpless little chuckle. I felt him shrug.

"Well, I'm just saying: that's pretty hot."

I laughed for real this time, the kind of head thrown back, shoulders shaking, uncontrollable laughter that makes your cheeks ache and your throat burn, and I could feel him laughing behind me.

It was very comfortable to be sitting there, leaning against him leaning against my bed, his arms tight around me, my head back against his chest. I don't know how long we stayed like that, just being together, not even talking. We didn't want to think about tomorrow. We didn't want to think about going back to school. We didn't want anything, except to sit there together and enjoy each other.

* * *

Oh, they're cuteness makes me hurt.I wanted to save alllll the next stuff for it's own chapter. It's going to get deep, and angsty. Ah, the angst. 


	6. Rich Boy

When we got up the next morning, I had a crazy need for some Macaroni and Cheese. I tried to con Lindsey into making some, but she's past that stage where she'd do anything for me, and not quite old enough to be nice yet. So Skitts and I had to make it ourselves. But hey, Macaroni is easier than cookies, right?

"That's not enough water."

"What? Yes it is, idiot."

"No, it's not! It says six cups, right here on the box. I thought you were a genius?"

"Well, you drain it anyway, so it doesn't even matter!"

"It does too matter! If you don't have enough there won't be anything _to_ drain."

"Well…shut up!"

"You're a loser."

"Yeah, well, you're a loser squared."

"Why?"

"Because you're a loser dating a loser."

Our little area of the kitchen went quiet. Lindsey, over on the computer in the living room, hadn't noticed anything. My mom was bustling around the playroom downstairs, Morgan attached, cleaning, and my dad had taken the twins out to G.I. Joes. No one was there to overhear us.

"Dating?" Skitts asked quietly, glancing at Lindsey. I could've swallowed my tongue. I could've banged my head on the table. I could've done a lot of things.

"Uh…well, aren't we?" Was what I asked, my voice wussily plaintive, making me cringe.

"I—I just haven't ever had…a boyfriend." He was going all red. I loved him for it.

"Me either." We stayed quiet, but our hands were touching. Finally, the water (which had been boiling for a while now) boiled over the small pot we'd elected to use, and we both yelped. Lindsey looked over and rolled her eyes before going back to her AIM. That girl was permanently glued to a computer screen, no kidding.

While we were eating our delicious cheesy dinner for breakfast, we held hands under the table so Lindsey couldn't look over and see us. But I'm sure she could see my blush, even from over at the computer. I reached over and swiped a few noodles from Skitts.

"Fiend!" He cried. "Give those back!" I popped them into my mouth quickly.

"Oh please," he scoffed. "Like your spit is really a problem for me? I _love_ your spit." He poked my lips with his fork, so I decided to be gross and spit the noodles out at him. To my horror, he shrugged and put the fork, spitty, glimy noodles and all, right in his mouth. Lindsey shrieked.

"Sick! Do you realize that's just like kissing? What are you two, gay lovers?"

* * *

Skittery decided to walk home soon after the Macaroni Incident. I didn't want him to go, but it was probably a good idea. And anyway, we both had to get ready for that night. I had avoided thinking about it all day, but as seven drew nearer and nearer, it was hard to keep my thoughts away from.

"Mom," I finally started reluctantly. "Would you be able to drop me off at the movie theater?"

"Mitchell, it's the day before Christmas Eve. Don't you want to be with your family?"

"Well, there's some school stuff I need to get wrapped up, and I want to get it over with now so I _can_ be with you guys for Christmas." She sighed, but grabbed her keys and her purse.

"I'll just be gone for a minute, Linds," she said. "Watch the kids. Daddy's at the hospital." My dad's a surgeon, and my brother's in his first year of college to follow Dad's footsteps. Expectations to live up to a little high? Just maybe.

We got to the theater, and I could see Jack waiting for me, his breath rising in little clouds in the freezing air. I didn't want to leave the car, both for its warmth and the safety my mother provided.

"When are you planning on being home?" Mom asked.

"I…I don't know."

"Well, then, be home by eleven. Earlier, if possible, got it?" Four hours? Should be way more than enough time.

"Yeah."

"Aren't you going to get out?" She asked, confused. I sighed and leaned my head back against the seat.

"Yeah," I said finally, exhaling loudly.

"Hey, Snitch," Jack greeted me warmly. I gave him a weak smile.

"Hi."

"So, I thought we could have dinner at _Catherine's_." He said this nonchalantly, as if he ate at the most expensive restaurant in town every day.

"Uh…wow. Okay. How are we going to get there?" _Catherine's_ was at least fifteen minutes away. Jack shrugged.

"No big deal. I got a taxi." I couldn't help gaping at him. We weren't in a big city, where cabs are on every corner. I'd seen a few taxis before, usually dropping people off at the airport, but these were the kind of taxis you had to call ahead of time and arrange to get picked up. And my eyes only grew wider as he pulled out a wad of cash to pay the driver with when we got to the restaurant.

"Kelly," he told the maitre d' peering over the reservation book. She led us to a cushy little booth in a private part of the restaurant. There were huge, glass chandeliers with dozens of real candles in the holders. The silver wear gleamed brightly. The waiter greeted us with a slight bow, his shirt white and crisp. His apron didn't even have any food on it. This didn't seem to be the type of place where anyone, even waiters doing dishes, spilled any food.

The food was all foreign dishes with funny names, so I just let Jack take the lead. For a nearly fifteen-year-old boy, he was certainly confident and curt. He scolded our waiter for having the wrong number of forks on our table. I, on the other hand, as a nearly fourteen-year-old boy, didn't know how anyone could keep that many forks, knives, and spoons straight, and felt bad for the poor waiter.

"So. Snitch. How're you doing?" Jack asked. I took another sip of my water (with a hint of lemon—classy) before answering.

"Uh…fine."

"Well, that's good." His attempt at conversation only made the silence more awkward and painful. I was eating some strange noodly pasta dish that probably tasted great. But I wasn't really tasting it.

When the bill came, Jack tried to block it from my view. But I snuck a quick peek and almost choked on my free breath mint. It was over two hundred dollars.

"Jack," I started.

"It's fine, Snitch. I got it."

"But—"

"No. The older guy should always pay, right?"

Well. I didn't exactly agree with that, but before I had a chance to object, Jack added,

"Let's get going." I swallowed any objections I had, right along with my tongue. The taxi was waiting for us outside the restaurant, and I wondered if the driver had sat in his car the whole time. This thought was immediately driven out of my head when Jack told the driver our destination.

"The Four Seasons, please." My eyes practically popped right out of my head. The Four Seasons! This was getting ridiculous.

"Jack," I finally managed to get out. "Where did you get all this money?" He shrugged flippantly.

"I memorized my dad's PIN number. It's not like he'll notice, or care."

Now, my family was well off; more than well off—we were wealthy. But Jack? Jack was _rich_. I found out later that his dad owned a few Four Seasons hotels, so that explained the hotel, and it brought them a lot of money. And I mean a _lot_. Jack made Skittery look like he needed welfare, and Skittery had been the richest person I'd met up to that point.

The room, of course, was spotless. The sheets were far cleaner than any garment my house had ever played host to, and there were more than just mints on the pillows—there was a fruit basket on the bureau, a full supply of spa products in the bathroom, and several spare fluffy feather pillows. Jack didn't even bat an eye at the place.

"Snitch. Have I mentioned how glad I am that you're here with me?" The sentence would have been very sweet and highly flattering—if Jack's voice hadn't been overly formal and if he hadn't been unbuckling his belt. I felt suddenly trapped, in this too-large, too-clean hotel room with a too-eager "friend" currently taking off his pants.

"Well, come on," he said impatiently. When I still didn't move, Jack took matters into his own hands and started pulling my clothes off me himself. I shut my eyes as he led me to the huge, comfy bed in the middle of the room.

Unlike Snoddy, Jack kept a steady stream of conversation going—maybe to reassure me, or to cover the squeaks of the bedsprings, or some other reason I couldn't fathom. But his talking was hardly better than Snoddy's silence—Jack wasn't saying anything meaningful; he wasn't really talking _to_ me, so much as _at_ me. For the most part, I kept my mouth shut—except, of course, when he needed it to be open.

When he rolled me over to my stomach, I squeezed me eyes closed and gritted my teeth. He was gentler than Snoddy. It hardly hurt at all. If I hadn't been so busy trying not to scream and run away, I probably would've enjoyed it. As it was, I was fiercely battling tears. I didn't want _him_ inside me. I didn't want to be his random, faceless boy to entertain him on a long night. Actually, I really wanted to be at home, drinking hot chocolate, watching Christmas movies, and laughing with my family. I wanted my mother.

I wanted Skittery to wrap me up in his arms and kiss my cheek and snuggle with me. I wanted a warm boyfriend, not a cold partner.

* * *

Okay, so this was originally a bit longer, and was going to include all kinds of stuff about Skittery's family and everything. But I don't really have time. There could possibly be another chapter tonight, but I have to leave soon, so. Yeah. 


	7. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

A/N: Okay, just a little warning: the end of this chapter gets kind of...mature. Nothing awful; just thought I'd give the heads up. Don't like it? Don't read it, don't whine about it, don't flame it.

* * *

When I got home, the first thing I did was call Skitts. He didn't answer. I paced around my room for a few minutes and tried again. No answer. I called again and left a message. 

"Hey. It's Snitch…just seeing if you were home…call me."

I sat on the end of my bed, feeling horribly low. I didn't want to think of how unhappy Skitts must be with Snoddy. But more than that, I didn't want to think of how _happy_ he might be. What if he really liked Snoddy? What if he didn't want me anymore? I called three more times in an hour, but didn't leave any more messages. I was out in the kitchen, trying to force myself to eat something, when the phone rang.

Lindsey was reaching for it, but I pounced. She gave me a look like I was crazy, a look I didn't even realize she'd shot me until I was safely in my room with the door locked, finger poised over the Talk button.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Snitchy."

"Skitts! Oh my God, I was freaking out. Are you alright?"

"Yeah…man, you weren't kidding when you said Snoddy was rough, huh?" His voice sounded hollow, his laughter forced.

"I'll kill him!" I cried. "Skitts, seriously, are you okay?"

"Calm down. I'm fine. Just…sore. And kind of lonely."

"I'm coming."

"Actually…Snitch, this'll probably sound weird, but…can we stay at your house?" His voice was a little shaky. I would've stayed in a cardboard box with him.

"Of course. I'll be right over to get you."

"But Snitch?"

"Yeah?"

"Um…just so you know…I mean, I know since we're at your house it won't really be an issue anyway, but…I'm not really up to…anything, ah, I mean—"

"It's fine, Skitts. I get it. I know."

"Okay," he said with a relieved, wobbly sigh. "Are you coming soon?"

"I'm there."

* * *

I waited all night for Skitts to talk to me, but he didn't. Well, we talked of course, but it was our usual meaningless fluff, cuddled together under my sheets. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" I whispered in his ear sometime around midnight. His face tightened and he shook his head with his eyes closed.

"Skitts…are you sure?"

"Look, Snitch, what's bugging me isn't about Snoddy, okay? It's something else and I don't want to talk about it." Seeing my hurt look, he buried his face in my neck. "Yet," he added. "Right now, I just want to…breathe you." I laughed a little.

"Breathe me? What, you think I'm air?"

"You're the air I need." He said drowsily, making my heart clench curiously in my chest. I did the only thing I could think of. I kissed him.

* * *

"Mitchell!" I awoke with a jerk to my mother pounding on my door. "Why is your door locked? Hurry and get up, we have to pick Christopher up at the airport! Are you awake?" 

"Yeah, Mom!" I called out to her. "I'll be right out." I was caught in a tangle of arms and legs and sheets and blankets, and I wasn't sure how to get out. Gently, I shook Skittery.

"Hmm…wha….?"

"Skittsy," I sang softly in his ear. "Time to get up." His eyes fluttered but stayed shut.

"I don't want to get up."

"I'll kiss you if you do." He considered this, tipping his head to the side. His eyes were still closed. "Please get up? I really want to kiss you."

"Well…just for you." He opened his eyes, already smiling, and rubbed them. He stretched and yawned. His hair was sticking up all over. If I didn't kiss him soon, I was going to explode, so I leaned in and puckered comically, waiting for him to kiss me first.

"Hey, I thought I was on the receiving end," he griped, but complied anyway.

"Good morning," I said against his lips.

"Mmm…good morning."

A thundering on the door made us both jump guiltily.

"Mitch! Hurry _up_, we're going to go pick up Chris, and we can't be late." It was Lindsey this time. "I can't _wait_ for him to get here, he's _way_ nicer than _you,_ and you get _everything_, this is the _third_ night _in a row_ that you've had a sleepover, and Mom won't even let me have _one_, but Chris is nicer, _he'll_ help me convince Mom…" She grumbled all the way down the hall, banging walls and doors on her way past. We could hear the twins singing loudly and Morgan laughing wildly. How on earth could we have been sleeping through this ruckus? Skitts laughed.

"I love your family," he said, he face somewhere around my elbow.

"Yeah, yeah."

"I'm assuming Chris is your older brother? And he's coming home…from college?" I nodded.

"And obviously, he's much more loved than I am," I pouted. Skitts kissed me again.

"Quit whining," he laughed. "Put some clothes on."

"Like _you_ really want me to."

"Oh, please. I bet you don't even look that good naked."

"Like you have any room to talk. Your bones stick out through your clothes."

"Are you sure that's my bones?"

"Skitts!"

"Oh, fine. I get it, you like 'em with muscle. That's why you love Cowboy more than me now."

"You got that right. It's either the muscle or the hat."

"Did he wear the hat the whole time?"

"The entire time. I mean, honestly. He was completely nekkid, except he had socks and a cowboy hat on." It was nice to laugh about it now, now that the whole thing was over. It made it less painful.

When we finally went out to breakfast, Skitts's hair was a little more mussed, and my shirt was twisted just a little. No one noticed.

"Oh, Jacob, I forgot you were even here!" Mom exclaimed. "You're so quiet—" she shot a disapproving look first at Lindsey, then at the twins, who had taken their spoons as microphones— "and polite." Skitts ducked his head shyly and shrugged.

"What time does Chris get in?" My dad asked, just now coming into the kitchen. He had dark circles under his eyes and reached blindly for his coffee mug.

"Noon. We have to leave in an hour!"

"Then why did everyone get up so early?" I asked incredulously. Skitts shot me a look, wiggling his eyebrows. We looked away so we wouldn't laugh and give ourselves away.

"Well. Everyone needs to get ready to go. _And_. We have to clean the house. Your room especially, if Chris is going to be sleeping in his bed…I'll change the sheets, but you're going to have to do _something_ about that desk. I'm sure he'll have homework." My mom looked to Skitts, who was quietly munching toast. "We can take you home, Jacob, as soon as you're ready."

Gee, Mom, real subtle.

Skitts swallowed awkwardly and pushed back from the table. I followed him, but I brought my food with me. He started feverishly gathering what few things he'd brought over, his eyes dark. Abandoning my toast (though reluctantly, I must admit), I put my arms around him from behind.

"Hey." I rested my head on his shoulder. "You gonna be okay at home?" He sighed and leaned against me.

"I…yeah." He'd been about to tell me something, I could tell.

"Do you want to talk about…whatever was going on last night?" He stiffened a little. It was a while before he spoke. I pulled away from him and turned him around to face me, holding his hands in mine.

"It's just…okay, so the thing is…Snitch, I've never told anyone about my—"

"Boys!" My mom bellowed. Skitts jumped a foot and pulled away from me. "We need to take Jacob home and Mitchell, you need to get cleaning!"

"Skitts," I said urgently. "It's okay. Keep talking." He shook his head.

"I can't," he said quietly. "Not now. Later."

"Skitts…" He grabbed his bag and walked toward the door. He stopped in the doorway and turned back around.

"Snitchy…thanks. For everything. For listening to me…when I do want to talk." He cracked a small smile. "For being my air."

* * *

"Chris!" My mom started waving. "Chris! CHRIS!" She was waving frantically, jumping up and down. Lindsey giggled and covered her face. 

"Mom, it's only been like four months," I pointed out. "And you talk to him like every other day." She ignored me and kept jumping and waving. Chris (finally) got to us and set down his suitcases so he could grab Mom in a big hug. He was always good at these kinds of things.

When he turned to me, we both stuck out our hands, then yelled, "Brothers don't shake hands. Brothers gotta HUG!" and grabbed each other in a bear hug. It was our custom greeting. When I pulled away, I noticed my mom had the video camera trained on us. I shook my head, but I was smiling. I loved my family.

When we got home, we decided to whip out the Christmas decorations. My mom had insisted we wait for Chris, so here we were on Christmas Eve, with a bare tree in our living room.

"Christmas!" Morgan kept shouting sporadically.

The tree only took about half an hour,but it reminded my parents why they were happy we only did this once a year. It was half an hour of bickering, screaming, punching, laughing, throwing things, and just plain _noise_. My dad rubbed at his temples, and my mom turned off the video camera.

"Why don't we make some goodies to take to neighbors?" My mom suggested.

"Food!" Chris yelled.

"Food!" The twins copied him.

"Can I get on the computer now?" Lindsey shouted at my father. He didn't answer, just retreated to his room and closed the door, muttering that next year we were having a Jewish Christmas, because that meant _no_ Christmas. And then we could hear him laughing at his own lame, lame joke. My mom looked reproachfully at us all.

"You guys _know_ how busy your father is—would it hurt you to give him _one_ day of peace and quiet?"

"Hey, this whole ordeal was _your_ idea," Chris pointed out, his mouth full of store-bought cookie dough. My mom has this problem with baking cookies. She's not good at it. She chose to ignore his snide comment and smacked his hand away from the dough.

I offered to walk a snack plate over to Skitts, partly to get away from the Morgan's incessant whining, and partly because I just wanted to see him. When I got to his house, only two lights were twinkling out to the street. I noticed for the first time that there were no Christmas decorations at Skitts's house. He opened the door with a glass of orange juice in his hand.

"Merry Christmas," I said as I leaned in to kiss him. He tasted like juice.

"Snitch! Whatcha doing?" He spoke into his glass as he took another gulp of juice. I handed him the plate, full to bursting with cookies, brownies, Rice Krispies treats, and, for some bizarre reason, gummy bears.

"Wow! Dude, fudge!" He looked curiously at me. "Did you make all this?" He asked lustfully.

"Well…my mom helped," I lied. He kissed me again. From inside, his microwave beeped. And beeped. And kept beeping.

"Hey, Skitts, are you home alone?"

"Uh…well…" He licked his lips. "…Yeah." He finally admitted.

"On Christmas Eve?" I asked incredulously.

"Well…uh, my parents had to, uh…work." It sounded more like a question than a statement to me. Which could only spell one thing...L-I-E.

"Skitts, are they coming home tonight?" This time, he was definitely avoiding my eyes, and his ears and neck were all red.

"Maybe…probably not." He stared into his juice.

"Are you kidding me? You're coming to my house. You can spend Christmas with us." I grinned at him and took a piece of fudge.

"Snitch, I don't want to just barge in and interrupt your Christmas. I'll be fine here on my own. Really."

"No way. _No_ way I'm letting you stay here alone! Seriously, Skitts, get your stuff and come on."

"Well, is it going to be alright with your parents? I mean, what if they don't want me to—" I waved away his protests and pushed him inside and toward the stairs. He resigned and went up to get whatever he needed. I called my mom.

"Mom? Um…is it alright if Skitts spends Christmas with us?"

"Mitchell, what about his family?"

"Well, I'm at his house right now, and he's home alone. His parents are working, and he said they're not coming home tonight. He doesn't even have a Christmas tree or anything up."

I could picture my mom on the other end, her eyes widening at this news and practically tearing up already. If there's anything my mom can't stand, it's kids being abandoned. She has to leave the room during Feed the Children commercials, and she does painstaking research on which organizations to donate money to.

"Oh, dear! Well, of course he can stay with us! But I'll need to go get some presents for him. What does he like? Oh, what if nothing's left?" She fretted.

"Mom, just get him something you think I'd like. I'm sure whatever you get him'll be fine."

We walked back to my house in near-silence.

"Skitts?" I ventured. "Your parents sure seem to work a lot." He licked his lips and looked down.

"Yeah," was all he said.

"Um…you wanna tell me why?" He sighed and stopped walking.

"Look, Snitch, I never told you this, but really it's just my mom. So she has to work a lot to keep up with the house and everything. It sucks, but she does what she has to do to keep us living the way we're used to." I tried to absorb this news, but it didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. Wouldn't it be better to live in a smaller house and spend time with your own kid than be working all the time and leaving him in a too-huge, drafty house by himself all the time?

"Oh." I said. "I'm sorry, Skitts."

"It's okay. You didn't know."

We went back to being quiet again, but I wrapped an arm around his waist, and he leaned into me. It made it kind of hard to walk, but it was worth it to be close to him.

At home, everyone was watching Rudolph (the old, claymation version) on TV. We sat and watched for a while, but then went into my room. I tripped over Chris's massive suitcase, and remembered that he'd be in the room with us. Apparently, Skitts had just realized the same thing, because he looked gloomily at the clothes spilling out.

"We can still sleep in the same bed," I assured him. "We just can't really cuddle or anything like that." I kissed him and pulled him down onto the bed. "So let's cuddle and kiss now, before he comes in."

We were lying drowsily together, talking when we felt like it, kissing often, and the atmosphere was very comfortable. So I, being me, decided now was a good idea to pry about his family.

"Skittsy?" I asked. "Please, tell me what's going on with your family. Why does your momwork on Christmas Eve andnot come home?" He sighed and dropped his head onto my chest.

"Christmas time is hard on her. My dad left pretty close to Christmas."

"How long ago was it?"

"Mm…three years ago."

"Why…why did he leave?" When Skitts didn't answer right away, I added, "It's okay if you don't want to tell me." He buried his face in my chest.

"I will, sometime." He promised. "I just…can't. Now. I'm sorry. I don't know how long it'll take."

"It's fine," I said softly, dropping a kiss into his hair. "Tell me when you're ready."

* * *

Christmas morning brought piles of presents and squeals from the younger kids. Chris stared blatantly at Skitts all day long. I got a little paranoid, too. I mean, Chris was much better looking than me, and smarter, and funnier, and had all the lure of an older guy. I just had to keep telling myself that my boyfriend and my brother were _not_ going to get together. After dinner, Chris drove us back to Skitts's house, and there was a little car in the driveway. 

"Oh…my mom's home." Skitts sighed, biting his lip. I looked worriedly at him.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Um…I guess I'll find out?" With a last sigh and a longing look passed between us, he got out and trudged up his driveway. I was all set to worry and wonder all the way home, but Chris broke my thoughts.

"So…you and Skittery, you're pretty close?" Try as I might, I couldn't fight a blush.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," I said, keeping my face turned to the window and thanking the dark winter sky.

"How close?"

I shrugged, wondering what he was getting at.

"You seemed _real_ close last night." I froze.

"What?" I asked cautiously.

"Well, let's see. When I got up at like two to pee, you were all cuddled up, and when I got back from peeing, you were even closer, and you both had your arms around each other. Mitch, you got something you need to tell me?" He'd used this phrase more times than I could count, trying to get a secret out of me. He'd corner you, throw all the evidence he'd found at you, and then WHAM—drop his bomb. I was as powerless against it now as I'd ever been.

"I…I…" I struggled to think up something, anything, to say.

"Mitchy, are you…you know?" His question hung in the space between the driver and passenger seat for a minute. I licked my lips.

"Um…yes, Chris. I'm gay."

It was the first time I'd ever said it out loud. Shouldn't there have been some sort of big, monumental bang or something? All I got was Chris's stare. We pulled into the driveway, but he didn't turn off the car.

"Mitch…"

"Don't tell me I'm too young, and don't tell me Skitts isn't good enough," I interrupted him.

"I wasn't going to." He said. We stared at each other for a minute.

"Do Mom and Dad know?" He asked.

"No. No one does. Not even Mike or James." He stared at me a minute longer.

"Are you guys…careful?" He asked. My blushed raged deeper.

"Chris!" I gasped.

"Well, you know, you gotta be careful! It's better to just not be having sex. You're only thirteen!"

"I'm not having sex with Skittery!" I cried. Which was true. I wasn't having sex with _Skittery_. Just almost everyone else in our circle of friends.

"Um…about Skittery…what's his real name?"

"Jacob. Why?"

"No reason. What's his last name?"

"Lewis. Why?" I repeated curiously.

"I—I think I mighta known his brother."

"Oh, uh…Joseph? I think Skitts is pretty bummed that he couldn't come home for Christmas. He must be busy." Chris shot a look at me.

"What? Come home from where?"

"Um…I don't know. I just kind of assumed he's in college or something."

"So, he's never told you…"

"Told me what?"

"Nothing. Just, he hasn't told you a lot about his family."

"It's hard for him to talk about it," I said defensively. Chris kind of shook his head a little and turned off the car.

I talked to Skitts later that night, and he assured me everything was fine. I told him Chris knew about us, and he was wary, but I told him it was fine.

"Chris won't tell," I promised.

We spent some more time together over the break, but not everyday, as we'd hoped. There were family engagements, on both sides. It made me kind of happy to know he had plans with his mom. On one of those times that he couldn't hang out, I was wandering the house aimlessly. Chris and I were home alone, because our parents had taken Lindsey, the twins, and Morgan to some Disney On Ice production. I was more hurt than I'll readily admit that I didn't get to go.

I walked into the living room to find Chris watching TV. I plopped down on the couch before realizing what he was watching. When I actually looked at the screen, I cringed and grimaced. He was watching porn. A woman was taking her time showing off for the camera. I shook my head, wondering why anyone could like _that_. Just as her moans were getting embarrassingly loud, Chris changed the channel.

"Uh, sorry, buddy," he mumbled, blushing. "Forgot about…you." At first I thought he meant me being only thirteen (fourteen in two more weeks), but it couldn't be that—he'd shown me Playboys when I was eleven. I realized with a start that he was referring to my being gay.

"Oh…it's fine. I've got some homework, anyway," I said, standing up and heading to my room. If I'd been more observant (or weird), I probably would've noticed that he was about as hard as I was.

* * *

New Year's Eve, I came down with a slight cold. It was only a sore throat, nothing big, but my mom went into spaz-mode. She banned me from the party everyone was going to and, before she left, tucked me tightly into bed. She even left a tray of cold water and hot chicken noodle soup on the desk. She kissed me on the forehead and said, 

"Now, get a lot of rest, Mitchy, we want you to get better as soon as possible. We'll all be staying over at Lisa and Tim's, so you can rest and no one else gets sick. Do you think you'll be alright here by yourself?"

I rolled my eyes (the only part of my body that I could still move) and told her, "Mom, you'll be two blocks away. I'll be fine."

Really, that was kind of a lie, but my mom didn't know that. I'm very paranoid when I have to stay home alone by myself. I knew I'd be getting next to no sleep that night, because I'd keep waking up to strain my ears for sounds of a creeping intruder and check the locks five times.

I slept fitfully, as I knew I would. At about two, I woke to the front door opening. My breath seized up in my throat. Who could that be? Was it just my mom or dad, checking in on me? No, not this late. Had my mom sent Chris home to do it for her? I listened for a minute. No one went into the kitchen, so I knew it wasn't Chris. I felt sweat run across my forehead, but I wasn't sure if that was because I was scared or just from being so deep in the blankets.

Now I knew it wasn't my imagination—someone was in my house. I heard a stumble, followed by a whispered swear. Obviously, this person was not a professional. A shadow came through my doorway (I stopped breathing) and paused (I felt my stomach flopping and flopping) before crossing to the bed I was in (I lay paralyzed with fear) and bending over me…

I screamed, a high-pitched girly scream that made the assailant clap a hand over my mouth. I bit him.

"Ow, Snitchy, it's me!" My heart and my breathing started up again when I recognized the voice as Skitts.

"Skittery!" I cried angrily. "You scared the crap out of me! What the hell are you doing?" I made out his shape shrugging.

"Well, you told me where the spare key is last week…and I was just at home…" I realized for the first that he was shaking.

"Skitts?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"Snitchy, I think she's really gone this time. I mean, she's been gone this long before, but she took all her clothes and shoes and everything this time…she's never done that before…I think maybe she's serious, she's not coming back…" His sentences were all jumbled together, the words rushed out of his mouth. I couldn't make sense of what he was saying.

"Skittsy, who? What's going on?"

"My mom!" He yelled. "She took all her stuff and took off!" I sat up and flipped my lamp on.

"Okay, Skitts. Calm down. Explain what's going on." He shook his head angrily, but before he could say anything, I took his hand. He stopped, and his shoulders dropped.

"My mom, Snitch. I think she left me for good." I rubbed a hand over my eyes.

"And she's…she's done this before?" I shook my head, trying to clear the sleep from my mind. Skitts looked down and traced a pattern on the bedspread.

"She's been doing it every once and while since my dad left. Sometimes, she'll just stare at me, but not _me_, I know she's looking at me and thinking about him."

"Your dad?"

He shook his head.

"Joey. I look just like Joey."

"Well, why does that bother her?" He turned to look at me for the first time that night, his eyes deep and dark.

"He's dead, Snitch. Joey died in the summer three years ago. That's why we moved here and that's why my dad left."

I felt my entire body go slack. Dead? I stared at him, trying to come up with words, trying to think, anything. Nothing came.

"He had just gotten his license, and I was eleven. He took me to get ice cream, and we were having agreat time, so we took the long way home. But we didn't know how to get home from there, and he laughed and said it was okay, we'd get home. And then…there was this other car, and it came out of no where, and Joey tried to swerve, but…" He dropped his head to his hands. "The other guy didn't even stay. Hit and run." Skitts barked out a cold, bitter laugh.

"On the news, they said he died instantly. But that's not true. He was alive the whole time we were waiting for the ambulance. And he was screaming." _Oh my God_, I kept thinking. _What am I supposed to say?_

"He asked me to come help him. Snitch, I couldn't get over to him; the car was all smashed up! I tried, I promise, I tried!" I couldn't catch all his words, because they were mixing with sobs now. Tears were already running down my own cheeks. "And then finally, he just stopped screaming. And I knew he was dead, I knew it. That's when _I_ started screaming."

"Oh, Skitts." I grabbed his hand back and he pushed himself against me.

"So then we moved, because it was hard to be in that old house. That's where we lived our whole lives. And then my dad just couldn't take it anymore, and he left. And sometimes, when it gets really hard for my mom, she takes off, too. But she usually comes back. I'm scared, Snitch. What if she doesn't come back this time?"

I ran a hand through my hair. What was I supposed to say? I didn't have any experience in this. I got up and pulled Skitts's shirt over his head. I had every intention of changing him into some pajamas and cuddling all night with him, trying to make him feel better. But then his shirt was off and his chest was wide and smooth, and I still had hold of his hand, and we were staring into each other's eyes. Suddenly, I was very aware that we were alone in my room, alone in my house. No one was coming home that night.

Slowly…so slowly…he leaned in and kissed me. The kiss was deep and passionate, but hurt and giving and needing and caring and loving, all at once. My head spun with the sheer feeling of it all. My hands were resting on his strong chest, and he bit his lip before pulling my shirt off me. We stood staring at each other for another minute, until I kissed him again. We embraced tightly, and the feeling of his skin against mine was all I needed.

I gasped as his hands moved to the waistband of my cotton striped pajama bottoms. He asked permission with his eyes, and I unbuttoned his jeans as an answer. We moved to the bed, mouths together in tender kisses. He moved to my bare stomach, biting gently, his hands running through my hair. I sighed, like I'd been waiting for this my entire life. In a way, I had.

Softly, gently, he turned me over so I was lying on my stomach. This was different from Snoddy, different from Jack. I could still feel his kisses on my lips, the pressure of his warm arms around my shoulders. Before going in, he leaned close to me and whispered,

"I love you, Mitchell Thomas."

The feeling of him inside me, the feeling of us being connected so completely, was a feeling so perfect it made my world explode.


	8. Back To School

I didn't sleep that night, but not because I was scared. I was…I'm not even sure what the words are. Can that feeling be put into words? I was full to the brim. Once Skitts was sleeping (peacefully…what an angel), I sat with my knees tucked up to my chest and tried to think.

I was in love with Skittery; that much I knew. And, being in love with him, I had yet another reason to dread any more nights with the kind of "entertainment" Snoddy had come up with. I only wanted Skitts, and I wanted him all to myself. Selfish, maybe, but, hey. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Skitts snorted, jumped a little, and rolled over, making me shake with silent giggles. It was so hard to feel melancholy and worried with him naked beside me.

But I knew when he woke up, everything wouldn't be all honky dory. We would need to talk about last night, of course, and I desperately needed to know that he was okay. He'd told me a lot of heavy, painful stuff about himself, and I hated the idea that maybe last night had been comfort sex. Then the sheet slipped down a little further on his hips…

Okay, so maybe right then I didn't care what his motives were. But eventually I would. Probably.

When the sun finally rose and I couldn't lie awake any longer, I slipped on my boxers and went out to the kitchen. I needed to do something to let Skitts know that I was there for him, and not just because the sex had been amazing. I really loved him. Since I had no idea how on earth something like that could be conveyed, I decided to make him breakfast in bed. It was a sweet idea, I guess, but…well, I can't even make Mac and Cheese. What did I expect?

An hour and a half later, Skitts came out of my room, also only in boxers, to see what the ruckus was.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asked oh-so-eloquently. Pancakes were burning on the griddle, eggs were burning in a frying pan on the stove, and the coffee was extremely watery. Eggshells were everywhere, I'd made a huge mess with the pancake batter, and there was just a general foul smell throughout the house. I looked at Skitts helplessly, trying to simultaneously flip an omelet and mix some more pancake batter.

"I was trying to make you breakfast." I was tired, hungry, and frustrated. I was very near tears, to be honest. Skitts shook his head, smiling, and came over to me. Gently, he took the pancake flipper away from me (probably for safety), turned off the stove and the griddle, and wrapped his arms around me.

"You are truly amazing," he mumbled. "But Snitchy? You are not a cook." I had to think for a minute to decide whether to laugh or cry. His smile and dorky horselaugh made me laugh, which was probably better, as I was still standing over the pancake batter. There was probably enough salt in there as it was.

* * *

"Mitchell? We're home!" Skitts and I were cuddling in my bed, but we'd done away with the boxers. I threw him a frantic look and swiftly crossed the room to lock my door. Hastily, I started getting dressed, but stopped when I noticed his coy smile.

"Skitts!" I hissed. "Come on, my family's home!"

"I'm going, I'm going…I just really like watching you move." He raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. This was not his nervous lip-lick. This licking of his lips had so much lust in it I got a little dizzy. Among other things.

"Not now," I moaned. "Skitts, we can not get caught, bottom line. How do you think my parents would react if they knew what we've been up to?" That wiped the smile right off his face. He sighed and started pulling on clothes as well.

"Mitchell!" I heard my mom shriek. "Were you trying to cook again?" I winced as I realized we never really had gotten around to cleaning up the kitchen. Actually, we'd made the mess worse, because…well, Skitts had put an apron on. How was I supposed to resist that? I had felt vaguely bad as the bowl of pancake batter went flying and splattered the walls, but then his mouth was in places it'd never gone before, and all coherent thought had vanished.

We came out of my room, and both put on charmingly sheepish smiles.

"Well, Mom, Skitts came over last night, and then we were trying to make breakfast, and we got in an egg fight, and the batter kind of became another weapon, and, well…" I shrugged. My mother shook her head in exasperation, but Skitts the Mom-Charmer stepped in.

"Mrs. Thomas, I'm really sorry we made such a huge mess. We'll clean it up right now, honest. I just had to teach your son a lesson." He smiled a winning smile, and my mom smiled right back. I rolled my eyes.

"Where'd you learn that?" I whispered as we cleaned. "You could burn down the house and talk your way out of it!"

"Joey," he said softly. "He was a real smooth-talker, and he taught me a lot." I dropped my sponge and scooted closer to Skitts, feeling awful.

"I never asked you…are you alright? I mean, you had to remember all that, and relive it, and that probably wasn't easy. You okay?"

Skitts kept scrubbing at the floor, keeping his head down for a minute. He looked up, right into my eyes, and flashed me a thin smile.

"Well, at first, it _was_ really hard. I mean, I've kept my mouth shut about it for almost three years. But then…Snitch, that was good for me. I feel really good right now. It was good to…remember him." He smiled at me again, this time bigger, and I shot a quick look around before brushing my lips against his quickly.

"I'm glad," I whispered as I pulled away.

* * *

School. Whoever thought of the idea deserves a public stoning. I stood by the front steps, Skitts at my side, glaring glumly at the big double doors.

"I don't wanna go," I whined.

"Me either."

"Let's skip," I said as I walked up the steps.

"Yeah, we should," he agreed as he opened the door for me. He let his hand linger on the small of my back for an extra second, giving me shivers.

The actual school part wasn't bad, really. It was lunch that was the problem. It had been almost two full weeks since our last set up. Jack would definitely be doling out more tonight, and I honestly didn't want any part in it.

I was sitting with my chin in my hand, staring into space, when a paper football hit the side of my face. I jerked out of my daydream (I'm not giving any details, but it involved Skitts and that apron) and stared at the folded paper for a minute. My name was written on it. It took me almost a full minute to realize it was a note, and I should open it. Glancing around to find the teacher, I realized Blink was giving me a small wave. He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

With a sinking feeling, I unfolded the note. It took a while, because I think it was my first ever note in the middle of class. Was it pathetic that I was shaking?

_Snitch_, it read. _I really want to hook up with you tonight. I'll talk to Jack and see what I can do. You game?_

I glanced over at Blink again. He gave me a thumbs up and licked his lips suggestively. _Not nearly as sexy as when Skitts does it_, I thought, maybe just a little biased.

When we were all gathered around the lunch table, Jack pulled out the notebook.

"Lets see what we got." He started leafing through the pages. He stopped and went back to the first page.

"Hey," he said, wrinkling his brow. "Skittery, Snitch, didn't you two hook up right at the beginning of Christmas break? There's nothing about it here. Didn't either of you write it down in here?" I looked over at Skitts. He shrugged at me.

"Uh…we actually, um, didn't do anything." I said. It wasn't quite a lie.

"What? Why not?" Jack asked. Skitts gave me a look that clearly meant, _Yeah, why not?_

"Uh…uh…because…" Why was it so hot in the cafeteria? "Um…we just…well, you all know we kind of had a problem with each other at first. So we didn't get together." I'm a bad, bad liar. Luckily, Jack is not the brightest bulb on the tree.

"Oh," he said. "Well, why don't you two hook up tonight, then?"

I fought to keep my face and voice only mildly interested, instead of out-of-mind overjoyed.

"Oh, sure, I guess so," I said with a careless shrug, ignoring Blink's disappointed look. _Maybe I should look into acting_, I thought. _Because I am _good! When I thought no one was looking, I gave Skitts a crazy happy grin. But he looked uneasy. After the bell rang, I held him back.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked him. He shook his head.

"Why'd you do that?" He asked angrily.

"I…what? What's the problem? I didn't lie, and we get tonight together!"

"I don't want to be with you just because _Jack_ told me to," he spat. I didn't quite know what to say to that.

"Well…Skitts, how about this? We'll hang out, but we won't do anything. You know? Since the guys all want us to hook up, we won't. We don't have to do what they tell us, right? So we'll just do whatever we want tonight."

"But I _do _want to." He paused. "I guess you're right. Tonight we'll just hang out at your house."

Skitts came home with me right after school. As we walked off in the direction of my house, Race winked at us. Skitts forced a smile to him. I just kept walking. The house was empty when I got home.

"Anyone home?" I called. No one yelled back, no one told me to shut up, no one came out to ambush me with Nerf guns. Must've been no one home. I dropped my bag and grabbed Skitts, immediately going for his neck. He had a wonderful neck.

"Let's go to your room," he whispered. He didn't have to tell me twice.

We were shedding clothes even as we walked down the hall, tongues together and breath gasping. I fumbled with the doorknob but finally got it open.

"Mitch?"

I practically jumped out of my skin. Chris was sitting on his bed, eyes wide as he stared at me. At this point, I was minus a shirt and my pants were well on their way down. Needless to say, the situation was a little awkward.

"Um…"

Embarrassed, I pulled my pants back up. Skitts followed suit, and I turned to face Chris. Eyes blazing, he got up and pushed past me—right to Skitts. Uh-oh. He was in protective big brother mode.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" He spat. "Do you realize how young you two are? Mitchell is _thirteen years old_, you bastard!"

"Chris!" I yelled. "Knock it off! It goes two ways, you know." He turned to me, and I kind of wished I hadn't spoken at all.

"You! You told me you two weren't having sex!"

"We weren't, at the time."

"So, what, you thought I was just kidding around? You thought, maybe, I didn't know what I was talking about? Mitch, thirteen is too young to be losing your virginity!" Finally, I blew up.

"For your information, I did not lose my virginity with Skitts!" I screamed at my brother. He froze. "I've been having sex for weeks now." As soon as I said it, shame spread through me. I felt dirty, just like I had that night with Snoddy, only now it was worse. I flashed back on all those nights—the hot breath on the back of my neck—and tears hit before I could even stop them.

Skitts was beside me in a second, wrapping his arms around me, stroking my hair.

"Shh," he said. "It's okay. You're okay." I looked at Chris through my tears. He looked guilty.

"Mitchy," he said uncomfortably. "Why don't we talk about this later?" I nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with weariness. I felt old. He brushed past Skitts and I, patting my shoulder awkwardly as he did.

"Skitts, why are we doing this?" I wailed. "I don't want to! I just want you, I don't want any of them!"

"I know," he said shakily. I felt a tear slide into my hair. His tear. "I don't know what to do. I just don't know what to do."

* * *

Oh, angst. It only gets worse before it gets better, I'm afraid. But WOOT it's break, so updates will come sooner! 


	9. Late Night Revelations

Chris and I were distant and coldly polite with each other for the rest of the day. My mother frowned at the two of us, asking at dinner why we were so quiet, and received only shrugs in reply. She wanted to press the issue, but Chris excused himself and went to our room. She glared at me, but I pretended not to notice as I stared into my green beans.

I prolonged going to bed as long as possible—watching hours of mindless TV, checking my email three times in half an hour, reading three stories to Morgan before tucking her into bed.

"Mitch?" My mom said softly around midnight. "You need to go to bed; you have school in the morning."

School. The prospect burned worse than butting heads with Chris. I didn't want to go, because I had just realized that Skitts and I would have to face The Notebook. If we didn't write something this time, the guys would get suspicious.

When I slipped quietly into my room, Chris had his eyes closed and was turned away from me, facing the wall. Loud, fake snores came from his general direction.

* * *

Before lunch, Skitts cornered me. 

"We have to write something!" He hissed urgently, eyes darting.

"I know. You can write it."

"Gee, thanks. Glad you love me so much."

"You know it."

"What are you two whispering about?" Jack came up behind us and we both jumped.

"Nothing," I said guiltily.

"I guess you just had _too_ much fun last night, huh?" Jack grinned coyly at me, and Skitts gave him a very ugly look.

"You know wha—" He started, but I gently put up a hand to stop him.

"So, Jack, where's the notebook?" I asked. "We have some…writing…to do." Skitts glared at me as Jack rummaged around in his backpack.

"Don't skimp on any details," he said as he thrust the spiral into Skitts's chest and stalked into the cafeteria.

Skitts and I stared at each other for a minute, unsure of what to do next. I led the way to a bench just inside the front doors and flipped open the tattered book.

"What should we write?" I whispered, taking Skitts's backpack from him and searching for a pen. Absentmindedly, he took one from his pocket and handed it to me. I chewed on the end as we looked through the other pages.

Snoddy, never good with words, instead had decided to draw pictures of all his…escapades. Skitts's eyes got big as he saw the illustration of Snoddy and I. In it, a smoky gray version of myself had my head back and my mouth wide open. Hastily, I turned the page, to find a charcoaly Skitts on top with his teeth gritted, muscle and sinew standing out.

"Hel_lo_," I said. "Snoddy's quite the artist, huh?"

Skitts turned the page.

Finally, we found the next empty spot, waiting to be filled with dirty bits of juicy gossip. Skitts made a face at the page, and I started chewing a thumbnail.

"So…"

"So."

I took the lid off the pen and poised it over the paper.

"We should just write, 'It's none of your damn business, stay out of it.'" I suggested. Skitts laughed.

"Sure, do it." We lapsed back into thoughtful silence. I started tapping my foot. I may have skipped a grade, but that didn't mean I didn't get bored sitting and thinking for too long.

"I have an idea," Skitts said finally.

"What is it?"

"Well…just let me write it. I don't want you to see. Go eat lunch."

"Are you going to slander me without my knowledge?"

"I should, since you just used the word slander."

"Ah, shut it."

"Seriously. Go in with the guys." He took my hand and kind of shoved it away, but nicely.

"Alright. I trust you."

"What a dangerous idea."

His secrecy didn't really bother me, but it annoyed me. Didn't I have a right to know what he was going to write?

"Where's Skittery?" Jack asked. I felt a stab of annoyance at Jack's insistence of having to know everything about everyone, all the time. I fought it back and shrugged.

"He's writing in the notebook," I said in a would-be nonchalant voice. Mike gave me a concerned look, so I forced out a blithe smile. He didn't look convinced.

Skitts came in a few minutes later, whistling casually, but his ears were red. He tossed the notebook at Jack and slid into the empty seat next to me.

"Old Spinster saw me with that," he said, gesturing with his chin to the notebook. Spinster was our vice-principal, an unmarried, crabby old woman who was fond of pantsuits in horribly frilly, flowered patters. No one knew why she worked in a school, as she hated children beyond all reason. I couldn't think of her real name.

"Did she look at it?" I asked, as my hand groped blindly for his under the table. I found it, but not before scraping up against something sticky and wet stuck to the underside of the table. The germ-freak in me was screaming.

"Nah," he said, noticing my disgusted grimace and wiping the slime from my hand on his jeans. He's so sweet. "I just told her it was homework and put it away."

Other guys started talking, flitting from topic to topic, but I was finding it hard to keep up with the thread of conversation, what with one of Skitts's hands in mine and the other leaning warmly on my thigh. How could I pay attention to them? All I wanted to do was jam my tongue down his throat and push him back against the chair…

The bell rang and made me jump. A few of the guys laughed at me. Skitts gave my hand a squeeze before reluctantly releasing it and standing up. As we all slowly waded through the throng of kids, I leaned in and whispered,

"You coming over after school?" My lips brushed his ear unnecessarily as I talked. He smiled and nodded, then furrowed his brow and pushed me into a secluded corner. I raised my eyebrows and licked my lips, and he rolled his eyes.

"Did you talk to Chris?" I grimaced and shook my head. He gave me a look.

"He wouldn't talk to me," I said indignantly.

"Well, talk to him today. I'll go home. Call me after you settle things with him."

"Skitts…" I whined.

"Seriously, Snitcher."

"Snitcher?"

"That's what I said." He got serious. "Snitch…look, not to guilt you into it or anything…but you still have a big brother. I mean, what happens if you don't talk to him tonight, and tomorrow you wake up and he's gone? Do you want that to happen?" I looked at him for a long minute. He had his head cocked to one side, biting his lip.

"I hate you."

"You'll talk to him?"

"Yes! I'll talk to him. Now quit guilt tripping me and kiss me in this oh-so-sexy corner."

* * *

When I got home, I threw my bag in the general direction of my room and headed to the kitchen for some food. My mom was bustling around, humming and completely oblivious to the fact that the twins were having a peanut butter fight. I grabbed the jar from Keith and the spoon from Kyle as I walked by, ignoring their howls of protest. 

"Oh, hello, Mitchy," my mom said absently as she pulled the spoons Morgan had been playing with out of the drain.

"Hey…where's Chris?"

"He went out with some friends."

"Oh…" I tried to feel bad about this missed opportunity to clear the air. But I didn't really succeed. So I called Skitts instead.

"That was fast," he said. "You guys cool?"

"He's not home." I told him as I made my bed so I could flop down onto it. Sometimes I have fits of neat-freakness.

"Call his cell phone."

"Skitts…"

"Snitch. Do it. It's important." And then he hung up on me. I stared at the phone for a minute, shocked and a little exasperated. Should I call him back? I had half his number dialed before I hung up and dialed Chris instead.

"Yeah?" On the phone, our voices are almost identical.

"Uh…hey."

"Hi," he said awkwardly.

"So, I guess we should talk about yesterday?"

"…Now? I'm busy, Mitch."

"You've never been too busy for me before," I said, a touch hurt. He sighed.

"Look…call Skittery or someone. We can talk when I get home."

"How do we know you'll make it home alive?" I blurted. Chris snorted.

"Well, since I'm only bowling, I think I'll be okay. Unless Nick loses control of that ball again." Someone in the background snickered, and I distinctly heard,

"I never lose control of my balls, Chris."

"Look, Chris, crazy stuff happens every minute of the day. Driving to get ice cream isn't much more dangerous than bowling." I could picture Chris. He'd be rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, holding the phone to his left ear because he can't hear as well in his right. I could tell he was breaking down.

"Mitchell."

"Christopher."

"Okay, look. I do want to talk about it, I promise. I'm sorry I freaked out, but how else was I supposed to act? Assuming I get home alive, we'll talk about it. And if I _don't_, well, love ya, little bro, no hard feelings on this end."

And I got hung up on for the second time in ten minutes.

I chucked the phone across the room, but to a pile of dirty laundry so it wouldn't break. Hey, my boyfriend and my brother already weren't talking to me; I didn't want my mom yelling at me to add to it.

Chris did make it home alive, turns out. He came in, smelling like a bowling alley—stinky feet and cigarette butts—and dropped his keys on the desk before coming right over and sitting next to me on my bed.

"Alright, kid," he said as he shoved my feet over so he could sit more comfortably. "Talk."

"Well…" Now that he'd finally agreed to listen, I realized I didn't know what to say. "Um…Skitts and I aren't really doing a _lot_…we're not, like, rabbits or anything."

"Nice," he said dryly.

"We've really only done it…all the way…once. We've fooled around a little, but nothing serious besides the one time."

"That's still too much, Mitchy. You're just a little kid. And what about all the other guys?"

"I'm _not_ a little kid. And there's only been three other guys, and I only went all the way with two of them."

"So, what, you guys just do it…casually?"

"Kind of." I explained Snoddy's idea to him, and he looked disgusted.

"Mitchell! Why would you agree to something like that?" He punched me.

"Well…" I shrugged. "I was too chicken and freaked out to say no. I…I didn't know I was even gay, then. I kind of thought, maybe. But then…I wasn't sure."

"Experimenting," he mused, stroking his non-existent beard. "Were you at least careful?" At my blank stare, he clarified, blushing, "Were you _safe_?"

"God, Chris, of course we were! Do you think we're _complete_ idiots?"

"Well, it's pretty stupid, what you're doing."

But he didn't say it fiercely, and he ruffled my hair the way I playfully hated but didn't really mind all that much. I felt like things were okay with my big brother again, and when I called Skitts, he told me he could hear the smile on my face.

I didn't even complain when my mom asked me to do the dishes after dinner. Well, maybe a little. But at least I did them.

I was leaving the kitchen, fingers withered, and I grabbed a cookie from the rack they were cooling on. My mom gave me a disapproving look (she'd read somewhere that eating past eight was a bad idea) and shook her head.

"Little snitch," she said with a wave of her hand. I froze.

"Wha—what'd you just call me?" I asked shakily. She looked up from her cross-stitching.

"A snitch. You know, a thief?"

* * *

I tossed and turned all night long. In my dreams, I was standing with my back against a wall, with all my friends and family pushing in around me. 

"Snitchy, Snitchy," Morgan sang.

"My name is _Mitch_," I insisted.

"But everyone else calls you Snitch," my mother pointed out. "Who are you, Snitch or Mitch?"

"You told me you were Snitch!" Skitts accused. "Who are you?"

"Tell Mom and Dad!" Chris intoned. "Tell them who you are."

I woke with a jolt. Suddenly, I remembered something Chris had told me weeks ago, on the way home from Skitts's house. I kicked off my covers and went to his side of the room.

"Chris," I said, shaking him roughly. "Wake up. Chris!"

"Huh?" He jumped and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth. "What the hell are you doing, Mitch? I'm sleeping." Chris really likes his sleep.

"Chris, how'd you know Skitts's brother?"

"What?"

"Joey! How'd you know Joey?" He bit his lip and closed his eyes again. But this time, it was because he was uncomfortable.

"Mitchy…it's like two o'clock in the morning. Go back to bed."

"Chris! You said you knew Joey, but they moved here after he died. How did you know him?" I shook him again, because he was pretending not to hear me. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Mitchy…it's a really long story, okay? Can I tell you in the morning?"

"Is it something big?"

"What?"

"Is it a big deal?"

He hesitated. "…Yes."

"Then tell me now." I looked him right in the eyes, and he sighed.

"Okay. But…promise me something. I'm going to tell you lots of stuff, and you're going to want to jump in and interrupt me. Don't, okay? Just let me talk. Promise?"

"Promise."

"Alright." He rubbed his chin. A little stubble had sprung up. "Let's see…okay, yeah. I met Joey round about…freshman year. At this club."

"A club? Like a nightclub?"

"No, idiot," Chris said, rolling his eyes. "A club meeting. Like, an organization? What happened to you not interrupting?"

"Sorry."

"So, we were both at this club meeting, and we started talking. He told me he lived a couple towns over, and he was staying with his cousin for about two weeks or so. We talked about sports and school and stuff. He wanted to be a marine biologist." Chris's eyes got faraway—the same way Skitts's did when he talked about Joey.

"Anyway, we hung out for those two weeks, and then we kept in touch, and we got together like once every couple months. Then I got my license and we saw each other a lot more…and then he died." He rubbed at his eyes again. I waited to see if he was going to add anything else. He didn't.

"So, you guys were friends?"

"Yeah."

"Best friends?"

"Uh…I don't think I'd say that."

"Hm." I thought for a minute. "Chris, what kind of club was it?" I couldn't think of any club my brother belonged to. He hesitated, avoiding my eyes.

"I don't remember," he said, clearly lying. I gave him a look.

"Yes you do."

"Go to bed, Mitch."

"What club was it?" I insisted, curious now. He stared intently at the bedspread.

"It was…it was a gay support group, okay?"

I stared at my brother, my big brother Chris, who I'd known my whole life, who never lied to me, who protected me and played with me and teased me and made sure I was always safe and happy.

"Why were you at a gay support group?" I asked carefully. "Were you there to support a friend, or…"

"No. I was there for me, Mitchy."

"And…so was Joey."

"Yes."

"And…you two were more than just friends, weren't you?" It suddenly dawned on me.

"I-I…yes. Joe and I were…Joe was my boyfriend."

* * *

Oooh, did that shock you? Next, how will Snitch and Skitts react to the thought of their big brothers being _together_ together? 


	10. Learning To Swim

The next morning at breakfast, Chris wouldn't meet my eyes. That was fine with me; I needed some time to sort out what I was feeling.

First, I was hurt that he hadn't confided in me. Were we brothers or not? But also, I didn't know how to handle this new idea of Chris being gay. Shouldn't I be able to deal with it, since I was, too? I was severely confused, not helped by the lack of sleep I'd gotten.

* * *

I grabbed Skitts the second I saw him and didn't even care that the other guys were wondering what the hell was going on. 

"Wha—"

"Chris told me some stuff last night," I interrupted. I'd shoved us both into the library—probably not the best place for this conversation, but it was the first door we'd passed.

"Okay," Skitts said calmly. He's good at keeping people calm. Usually. There was _nothing_ that could keep me calm right then, not with the tornado of anger, hurt, and confusion swirling through me.

"He told me how he knew Joey."

"He knew Joey?"

"Yeah." I started pacing, earning me a dirty look from the librarian. I resisted the urge to flip her off. "Guess where they met?"

"Um…"

"A club," I broke him off before he could even guess. "Do you have any idea what _kind_ of club?"

"Snitchy," Skitts started, on the verge of comprehension. "Are you telling me that Chris and Joey—"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm telling you!" I hissed.

"Oh." He looked only mildly surprised. "So _that's_ who it was."

"What?"

"Well…I kind of knew, already." At my murderous look, he quickly added, "I didn't know it was Chris. I've known Joey was gay for…a long time, I don't know, years. I was the first person he told. But he would never tell me who he was dating. He said he didn't want to influence me."

"You were the first person he told?" Skitts didn't know it, but this stung me far more than any surprise I felt over our brothers dating. He and Joey were closer than me and Chris, and it may have been a stupid thing to be jealous over, but I was.

"Yeah…he was like, eleven, so I was six."

"You were _six_? Six years old?"

"Yeah. I didn't understand, at first. I just knew that he'd talk about boys the way our big cousins talked about girls. And then, when I was like nine, I walked in on him and some guy kissing. It was probably Chris," he said thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think it might've been. I thought he looked familiar."

I dropped my head to my hands. _His_ brother had told him, and Skitts was _six years old_ at the time. My brother had hidden it from me for years.

"Snitch?"

"Well, I'm sorry, but unlike you, I had _no idea_ my big brother is gay!"

"He never told you?"

"No, he never told me! He said I was too young!"

"Well, Snitch—"

I didn't let him finish. I stormed out of the library, down the stairs, and out the main doors. For the first time in my life, I was leaving school--before the day had even started, without permission, and with nowhere to go.

* * *

I wandered around town for a while, aimless and surly. I contemplated seeing a movie, but then I realized I was broke. Skipping school was not the exciting, rebellious feat I had imagined. No one even cared that I wasn't at school. What if I got hit by a bus and died? Then they'd be sorry. 

My cell phone rang and I answered it automatically, wincing when I realized that I shouldn't have my phone, if I was in class. I wasn't cut out for the whole secrecy thing.

"Mitch, where are you?" It was Chris. "The school just called and said you weren't in class. Luckily, Mom took Morgan to her playgroup, and I told them you were with me and I just forgot to excuse you. Where are you, I'll come pick you up."

I kicked at a shrub despondently. A cat leapt out and hissed at me, making me screech and run away. Maybe I'd take him up on his offer.

"I'm by Big Lots," I told him tiredly.

He didn't say anything as we drove home. I alternated staring at my hands and out the window. When we got home, we wordlessly walked into the house. I went to the basement and plopped myself onto the couch, grabbing the remote. He followed me, sitting next to me and taking the remote.

"Mitchy."

"Give it back."

"Mitchell. Look at me." I wouldn't. He sighed. "I'm sorry I never told you about…me. I wasn't sure about it, and you were so young, and…"

"Joey told Skitts. Skitts was six years old, and Joey told him." I was almost but not quite accusing. Chris stared at me, open mouthed, for a minute before recovering.

"_Six_? Man. But, see, Mitchy, I didn't want to do that to you. I mean…you wouldn't have understood. _I_ don't even understand it."

"Couldn't you have at least tried to explain it to me?"

He took a deep breath and let his lips flap in a raspberry as he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry, okay? I just…I don't even know what's going on." He flopped back onto the couch with a groan. Despite myself, I felt a wave of sympathy. I'd never actually been confused about my sexuality, I realized. The first crush I'd ever had was…Skitts. Well, and Ewan McGregor. But he didn't really count.

"So, what, you don't even know if you're gay or not?" I asked, trying to sound tactful. He said something, but he had a throw pillow over his face, so his voice was muffled.

"What?" He sat up and threw the pillow at me.

"I am, okay! But I'm just not going to be." He glared haughtily, daring me to disagree with him. So I did.

"You're just not going to be?" I asked slowly, quirking an eyebrow.

"Right."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

"By dating girls. A lot of them. And sleeping with them. A lot." Even as he said it, he had a dubious expression on his face, as if even he doubted his plan.

"…You're an idiot." I was shaking my head incredulously.

"No, I'm not. I'm a chicken." His voice was low and sad, and his head was down. "I'm not brave like you, Mitchy."

"Brave like me?"

"Yeah. I mean…you're brave enough to be who you are, and…just do it."

"Chris, you're braver than me. You can do it, too. You're going to have to, eventually. You can't pretend something like that."

"I have for nineteen years." He grinned sadly.

"So stop."

"It's too late. I'm too old."

"You're only nineteen, you idiot. And you're never too old to…I don't, live your own life?" I stared at him and he stared at his hands.

"I can't." He sounded near tears. "I don't know how."

"Well…we can do it together." He raised an eyebrow at me, and I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, loser. Not incest. We can tell Mom and Dad at the same time! Yeah!" He was shaking his head, eyes wide.

"No, Mitchy, no. I can't."

I stared at him for a long minute, trying to think of a solution. It was the first time our roles had been reversed—him asking for help and me finding an answer. But I wasn't good at being the protector. I didn't have an answer.

"How about this," I started slowly, remembering what he'd said when I'd been too scared to learn how to swim. "I'll go first, okay? I'll show you how, and then you can follow after me. Got it?" He smiled and remembered using those words on me, and used mine back to me.

"I'll try. But don't go too far without me."

* * *

"Where the hell'd you go?" 

"Hello to you, lover." Chris rolled his eyes when he heard that.

"Snitch, I'm serious. You scared me, jerk."

"Skittsy, I'm sorry. But I went home." It wasn't a total lie; I'd ended up at home. After about two hours.

"And your mom was cool with that?"

"Well…" When she'd gotten home, school had already been over, and she'd been none the wiser. "I just told her I needed a day off." I didn't like lying to Skitts, but it was a necessary evil.

"Are you okay?" He asked, finally relenting from anger.

"Yeah. I'm much better now. Me and Chris talked about stuff, and…yeah. I'm good now."

"Oh, good. So, you missed lunch." Something in his voice told me he wasn't just excited about the tuna casserole that had been served.

"Oh, no." I groaned. "When?"

"Tonight. You're with Itey."

"What?" I sat up. Itey? That was James. My best friend James, James that I'd known since we were in diapers.

"Yeah. You're supposed to go to his house at eight."

Skitts went on, telling me about the day and a run in with Spinster, but I couldn't hold a conversation. I couldn't breathe. James? I couldn't sleep with James. I couldn't do this!

* * *

I hesitated and lingered on the front step. Should I knock? I'd never knocked before; I usually just walked right in. I bit my lip and settled for both. I knocked but didn't wait for someone to answer. 

"Jamie!" I called out.

"Oh, Mitchy," his mom appeared. "How are you, honey? I haven't seen you lately."

"Oh…uh, I'm fine. Yeah, me and James haven't been hanging out lately because…er, Chris is home, so I'm spending lots of time with him."

"Oh, yes. Well, I can't stay, I have a date tonight," she said with a wink. "Jamie's upstairs in his room, go on up."

I thanked her and wavered at the top of the stairs. James came out of his room, and things got awkward.

"Hey."

"Hi."

A long pause made us both look at our shoes. I saw a stain on his carpet, made from red Kool-Aid. I could remember the summer we spilled it. We'd been trying to make some money, so we set up a Kool-Aid stand.

"Jamie…we don't have to do this," I said. He looked up hopefully. "Let's just hang out. We haven't hung out in a long time."

"Yeah…but it won't be the same."

"What do you mean?"

"We're both different now. Stuff like this…it changes people." He didn't sound angry about it, but I was.

"Why do we do this?" I exploded. "Why the hell'd we go along with this stupid plan?" He shook his head and shrugged. It was kind of weird being just the two of us, without Mike. As if reading my mind, James said,

"Too bad Mikey's not here."

"Who's he with tonight?"

"Skittery."

I gasped against my will, making James raise an eyebrow at me. I didn't know what to say. Somehow, in my panic over James, I'd forgotten that Skitts would be sleeping with someone. A little flash of jealousy ran through me. Isn't that everyone's worst fear? Their boyfriend and their best friend fooling around?

We played video games for a while, trying to be normal, but neither of our hearts were in it. I left after an hour and trudged home through the remaining sludge, head down, thinking.

James had called me Mitch, and I called him James, separating this night from all the other set-ups. But of course we would; that was how we'd grown up. Still, both of us had said the other's name different than we always had—there was a hesitation now; I called him James mainly out of habit. I'd caught myself about to call him Itey more than once.

It made me think of the dream I'd had the other day. Who was I, Snitch or Mitch?

Was there even a difference?

* * *

So, this was a bit shorter than expectred. But I wanted to get it posted today, because I'm not sure if I'll be able to post anything tomorrow. Anyway, the idea of Skitts kind of already knowing about Chris and Joey was courtesy of ThumbsuckerSnitch/Lute/you know who she is. And good thing, too, because I had NO idea how to make Skittery react. There may be more with his reaction and feelings about it all later. This AN is too long. 


	11. Show Yourself

After another sleepless night, I trudged off to school in an extremely foul mood. I'd burned the eggs I'd made myself for breakfast, we hadn't had any cereal, and my mom had informed me I would be riding the bus—five minutes before it came. It me four tries to get my locker open, and after I'd finally yanked my books out, I slammed it shut and kicked the one underneath mine for good measure.

"Someone's a little grumpy this morning," Mike said mildly from behind me.

"Just a little." I muttered, turning around.

"What's up?" James asked.

"Just a bad morning."

Awkward silence.

More awkward silence. When had things gotten so weird with the three of us? I couldn't remember ever standing in awkward silence before. The thought made me sad.

"So, um…what's up?" I asked. James, never much of a talker, even with us, just shrugged, but Mike blurted out what must have been a well-rehearsed speech.

"We're worried about you, Mitchy. I saw your English printout; you have a C. And you got a D on your last math test. What's going on?"

I ducked my head and sighed. The whole being in love thing, coupled with the anxiety and tumult of feelings that came with our nighttime jaunts, made for a very distracted teenage boy.

"Well…aren't your guys's grades kind of slipping, too?" They both shook their heads, looking at me like I was crazy.

"Why would our grades be slipping?" James asked, as if this was a foreign idea they'd never thought about before.

"Um…because we're sleeping with two or three different guys a week?" I wasn't blind to how cynical I sounded. I definitely _felt_ cynical. That same sadness hit me when I realized that I really was very pessimistic now. I used to be a pretty happy-go-lucky, naïve guy. Naïve? Bah. Happy-go-lucky? What for? I wasn't quite "The world sucks, I hate life", but I certainly knew I didn't live in a world of fluffy bunnies and hearts.

My two best friends winced at the biting edge in my voice, and the subject matter of my sentence. Mike tried to mollify me.

"Look, Snitch—" I froze at the nickname.

"What did you call me?" Mitch and Snitch were very similar sounds—I willed him to have called me Mitch. But his wide eyes and instant flush told me otherwise.

"Sorry, it's just what everyone else calls you, and…" He looked at the ground, embarrassed, and James took the helm.

"It's just a nickname. It's not a big deal."

I stared at the two of them, and as kids pushed past us, angry at the block in the hallway, I realized that I wasn't looking at Mike and James, my best friends since forever, my other two Musketeers. I was looking at two strangers, two people I'd never met—Mush and Itey.

* * *

I wasn't burning with anger all day. I was…numb. Somewhere, underneath it all, I was sad, and angry, and tired of living this life. But it was deep down. I didn't hear a word in any class; I sat, I was in the class, but I was in no way a participant. If I was called on, I don't remember it. 

I was dreading lunch. I didn't want to see all those faces, didn't want to listen to the dirty talk, the flippant, throw-away feelings. Was I the strange one, for even caring about all this? All the other guys seemed fine. Was I just overreacting? I felt so alienated. Maybe that was it. Maybe I was an alien or something. Not the same species as all the others, at least.

I had no idea what was happening throughout lunch—I wasn't eating, I kept my head down, and I avoided Mush and Itey at all costs.

"Hey, Snitch, you gotta write in the notebook about you and Itey," Jack called, tossing the spiral to me. I stuffed it into my backpack without a word. Skitts laid a hand on my leg, but I wouldn't look him in the eye. I didn't want to see his concern. Somehow, I made it through the period and began the slow march to my locker.

Skitts came up behind me and let his hands rest on my back for a minute.

"Are you alright?" He asked me quietly. I didn't even look at him. "Snitchy?" That name! I didn't want to be Snitch. I didn't want to be that person—I was Mitch.

Wasn't I?

I addressed myself inwardly. When I thought my name, did I think Mitch or Snitch? _Well, that's a stupid question_, I told myself. _Who thinks their own name_?

"Snitch?" He gently turned me around to face him. "Are you alright?"

"No!" I exploded. It was a quiet explosion, but the force was still there. "Can't you see I want to be left alone? What's so hard about that? What is so _fucking_ hard about just leaving me alone?"

"Snitch, I can tell you're upset about something—"

"Oh, no shit, Sherlock. Just go away." He stared at me a minute longer, and I completely lost it. "Go away! Get away from me! Go!" I was all-out screaming now, and everyone in the hall started staring. He clenched his jaw and whirled around, leaving me in a swirl of shoving kids.

Why did I do that? I berated myself. The one person I _did_ want to talk to, the one I actually cared about, and he's the one I blow up at? I couldn't handle one more class. I walked home.

"Mitchell, what are you doing?" My mom asked when I came in the door. I ignored her and walked straight to my room. I slipped off my backpack and started changing. I could hear her on the phone with the school, excusing me. I put my pajamas on. My special pajamas—soft flannel, old and faded, warm and comfortable.

"Mitchy?" Morgan came into my room. "Mitchy?" I didn't say anything. I didn't feel like I could summon words. "Mitchy?" Her voice rose in pitch, just slightly, and I felt bad for scaring her.

"C'mere, squirt." She crawled into my lap, sucking her thumb. I'm sure it was a Kodak moment—brother and sister, both with their thumbs in their mouths. She nestled against my chest and I squeezed her close to me.

"Am I bad guy, Morgy Porgy?" She didn't answer. I sighed, and she cuddled closer, her eyelids drooping. I held her until she fell asleep, feeling jealous. _Kids have it so easy_, I thought as I carried her to her room. I stuck her gently under her pink princess covers and tucked her teddy bear under her arm. She murmured in her sleep and cuddled further under the covers.

Back in my room, I picked up the notebook, the symbol of all my troubles. Life had been so much easier before this stupid bundle of paper had come into my life. I opened it up, flipping through the crinkled pages, but I didn't read any. I didn't want to.

I realized I had never read what Skittery wrote about us, so I turned to the right page. His handwriting was small, sloppy, and adorable.

_Snitch is the most amazing person on the planet. I want to spend every possible second with him._

I tucked my knees up to my chest. Skitts called me amazing, and I told him to fuck off. Yeah, I was basically the worst person in the world. I was so tired—physically, emotionally, mentally, however you can be tired. I just wanted _out_ of all this. I wanted to be Mitch again.

I grabbed a pen from my desk and started to write.

* * *

Jack swung by later and picked up the notebook, peering at me and asking, 

"Are you alright? You look like shit."

I didn't answer.

I sat at the bar in our kitchen, head in my hands. I stared at the chip in the marble on the corner. I didn't remember where it had come from. I heard someone come in but didn't look up. I could tell from the dancing kind of walk that it was Lindsey. She danced everywhere she went.

"Mitch? Are you gonna barf? You probably shouldn't do it on the bar." She giggled to herself. I didn't say anything. She set an old ice-cream bucket in front of me. It had been a long time since it had served any purpose but to be thrown up in. When you're sick, the toilet can be just too far of a trek.

"Mitch?"

"What?"

"Are you actually sick?"

"No."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I'm not…I'm just really tired. School's kind of a drag." She scrutinized me, patted my arm, and left me alone.

I dropped my head onto my arms on the counter. I heard Chris playing dinosaurs with the twins, roaring and snarling, and Morgan spurring him on. I heard my mom asking them to _please_ be quieter. I heard Lindsey telling my mom about her day at school, and how Jared Samson had looked up Sarah Jameson's skirt and got suspended for three days. I heard my dad's beeper go off, and he sighed and groaned and grabbed his keys. He was on call. He came in and patted my back.

"I'm going into the hospital," he said. "I won't be home until late, probably. Night." He kissed my hair. "You alright, kiddo?"

"I'm fine. Night."

I knew I should've been in the other room with everyone else, playing and talking and laughing. I wanted to. But I couldn't make myself get up, couldn't think of the right words that I could've said, anyway. I don't know how long I sat, morosely staring at the wall, until my mom came in.

She wiped down the table and the counters, humming to herself. She went around me instead of asking me to move. When she was satisfied with the job, she moved on to the dishes, whistling.

"Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Um…what do you think you'd do if one of your kids died?" I didn't know why I was asking. That hadn't been what I'd had in mind. She set down the bowl she was rinsing and dried her hands on a dishtowel as she turned to face me.

"Well, Mitchy, you might be too young to remember, but one of my kids did die." Between Lindsey and the twins, she'd had a miscarriage.

"Yeah, but…that's not really the same, is it? A baby who was never born and a sixteen-year-old kid?"

"It's not exactly the same, no, but it's still losing a child, and it still hurts like it." I felt really stupid and awful. God, why couldn't I keep my mouth shut? Ever? I started to get up to leave, but she came over to me.

"What's bothering you, Mitchy? You haven't been yourself lately." _You don't know the half of it._

"I…" Suddenly, I wanted to tell her everything. All the emotions I'd been trying to suppress rushed to the surface, and I just wanted her to hug me and tell me she loved me and everything would be okay, the way she always did.

"Mom, you're going to love me no matter what, right?" Chris and I used to joke about this all the time with her. I wasn't joking this time, and she knew it.

"Mitchell, I will never, ever stop loving you. I don't care what you did, or what you think is so bad, I still love you, and you need to tell me what's bothering you, so I can make it better. Okay?" She grabbed my hands and looked my straight in the eye. I nodded.

"Mom…" I thought of a delicate way to phrase it. "Mom, you know Skittery. Jacob. You know I've been spending a lot of time with him lately."

"Yes, he's a nice boy."

"Well, I'm glad you think that, because he's my boyfriend."

There was silence in the kitchen. The TV blared away, Keith shrieked as Chris tickled him, Morgan cried as Kyle took a toy from her, and Lindsey yelled at him to give it back. But here, in the kitchen, I kept my eyes on the counter and my mom didn't say a word.

"What?" She gasped finally.

"I'm gay. And Ski—Jacob is my boyfriend." _I think_. I added in my head. _If he doesn't hate me now._

She stiffened and turned partly away from me, swiping at the tears forming in her eyes. Chris ambled in, noticed the tears, turned around, and walked back out, pulling the twins with him.

"Mom." My voice was quiet and hurt. It didn't sound like me. She still didn't look at me. "Mom, you said you'd still love me." I was getting desperate, tears threatening to rise in my own eyes. My throat was painfully tight.

"I do still love you," she said softly. "I had just…_hoped_…I was wrong." She sighed. I didn't quite get what she was saying, and shot her a puzzled look.

"Oh, Mitchy, you never were a good liar." She sighed again. "You'd come home all flushed, and the two of you couldn't keep your eyes off each other…I'd hoped I was just imagining things. And your father said it was probably just a phase…" She trailed off and gave me a sad smile. "Not a phase?"

"No."

"You're…"

"Gay."

"Yes, that."

I had to laugh at that, and the relief that was bubbling up in me. She was not kicking me out of the house. She was not throwing things at me. She wasn't even all that surprised.

She came over and gave me a big hug.

"It's a little strange, you know, but I _do_ still love you. Of course I do. Now, it's almost eleven o'clock. Why don't you get to bed?" I could tell she was weirded out, but the fact that she was trying to be normal made me feel better. When I turned back as I headed out, she had taken my vacated seat and had her face buried in her hands.

I called Skitts, but hung up before he answered. He probably didn't want to talk to me, and I didn't know how to explain myself to him. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.

I was mostly asleep and listening to Chris's snores when my dad got home. I heard my parents conversing in low tones, and then he poked his head into my room. I kept my eyes closed, and he stood, watching me sleep, for a minute. He pushed the hair back from my forehead and stole out of the room.

* * *

Eh...I don't know how I feel about this chapter. It would've been up yesterday, but ff dot net was being weird and I couldn't upload anything. Anyway, the next chapter is the last, folks. Thanks to all my readers! 


	12. Perfection

I woke up at about five the next morning with butterflies in my stomach. No, butterflies were too small—I had birds flitting around in my stomach. By now, Jack would've read what I'd written in the notebook. Would he have shown it to anyone? Most likely. Where would I sit at lunch? I couldn't sit with them anymore. Would Skitts come sit with me? Did Skitts even still like me?

I tossed and turned for an hour and a half. Finally, I got up and showered. When I went out to find some breakfast, both my parents were sitting at the table. Strange.

"Dad, do you not have work today?"

"I'm going to go a little late. The three of us need to talk, I think."

The birds flew away, leaving cold, empty space in their wake. Talk? Talk about what? Was I in trouble?

"Okay," I said cautiously, taking a seat.

"Mitchy, you need to tell us honestly. This…this homosexuality…is this because of something we did?" My dad was staring at the table. My mom got up and made more coffee.

"I…what?"

"Did we make some mistake in raising you to make you this way?"

"Nothing _made_ me this way. I just…am."

Both my parents stared at me for a long minute. My mom was biting her nails worriedly.

"So you guys think it's something bad?" I asked, my voice cracking a little. Immediately, my mom stepped in.

"No," she said firmly. "There's nothing wrong with you, Mitchell." I looked at my dad. He returned my gaze. I bit my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He was quiet a minute too long, and I dropped my eyes to the table, blinking back tears.

"Christopher." I heard my mother hiss at him. "Stop that right now."

I bit back a sniffle and tried to casually raise a knuckle to my eyes. But, as my mom told me, I'm just not sneaky. My dad tries to be a tough guy, but he's really just a big softie. My tears finally collapsed whatever wall he had up. He patted my hand.

"Mitchell," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

I nodded without looking at him. He was sorry for making me cry, sure, but he still thought I was some kind of freak. He sighed.

"It's just hard to deal with," he admitted. "I…I'm a doctor, Snitch. I don't like the idea of an abnormality that I can't fix."

"Who says it needs to be fixed?" I muttered.

"Or that it's just some abnormality?" My mom chimed in. God, I loved that woman. She may have been the smallest person over eight in the house, but she was definitely the boss. Dad stared at his hands.

"Mitchell, you know I will always love you, regardless of any choices you make. I just need some time to…work this out. I'm sorry I'm not a better father."

His voice shook, and I understood for the first time that my father, invincible as I'd always thought he was, was just a man. His hands were strong enough to cut away a tumor in a stranger's brain or gently smooth a band-aid over the scraped knee of his own child. His face was lined and his hair was graying, and I realized with a start that my dad was getting old. For nineteen years, he'd been rocking children to sleep, reading bedtime stories, and tucking the blankets tight around a wiggly body.

I stood up and went around the table. I hugged my father tight. Words get in the way of some things, and actions need to take over. He hugged me back, and I knew without him saying it that he did accept me, and he did love me. He was my dad.

* * *

We were eating French toast and talking and laughing idly when Lindsey came in, bleary eyed, her hair all mussed on one side. She is not a morning person.

"Linds?" I said tentatively. I wanted her to know, but I wanted to see if she was even awake.

"What."

"I wanted to tell you something, but I guess it can wait if…"

"Tell me."

"Okay. Um…well…I know it might be kind of a shock, and I totally get it if you freak, but I'm…um, I'm gay."

"Is that all?"

"What?"

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

"Yes…?" I was confused beyond all belief. Maybe she didn't get what I said? "Linds, I'm gay," I repeated. My voice was getting more confident every time I said it.

"Yeah. I heard you the first time."

"And it doesn't bother you?" I asked, stunned.

"Well, it did at first, but I'm okay with it now."

"Um…that was fast."

"It took like two weeks, but—"

"What? Two weeks?"

"Yeah, since I walked in on you and Jacob kissing. Where's the syrup?"

I passed it to her in a daze. When had she seen Skitts and I? And why hadn't she said anything about it?

"You walked in on us kissing? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, at first I was kinda freaked out and didn't want to say anything. And then after I got okay with it, I was just grossed out and didn't want to say anything."

"Wait, why were you grossed out if you're okay with it?" I could feel myself getting defensive, if I needed it.

"Because you were kissing."

"Yeah, but I thought you said—"

"No, Mitch. Because _you_ were _kissing_. That's gross. Gimme the orange juice." My mom gave her a look. "Please." Lindsey added, rolling her eyes.

I stared at her. With an impatient sigh, she stood up and reached over the table for the orange juice. I kept staring, my mouth open a little. She rolled her eyes again. I wondered briefly if she ever got dizzy doing that.

"Mitchell." She snapped. "Are you really retarded, or do you just like people to think so? I know you're gay. Woo hoo. I don't care if it's a guy or a girl—you kissing _anyone_ is just nasty. Okay? Now would you please stop staring at me like a fish? I'm trying to eat."

I closed my mouth.

I had about ten minutes before I needed to leave for school, and I wanted to talk to the twins. Judging by the yelling and crashing coming from their room, they were up. I cautiously poked my head in their room, ready to duck should something come sailing at my face. No need. So far, anyway.

"Hey, guys," I said, settling myself into one of their tiny chairs and praying I'd be able to get back out of it. _Maybe I should start working out_, I thought as I mentally examined the size of my butt. "Getting ready for school?"

"No!" Keith yelled. "I'm not going to school!"

"Yes you are." My mom said as she passed their door. She didn't even stop as she threw two clean shirts into the room. One landed on my arm. I tossed it to Kyle, who tossed it to Keith, who tossed it to the floor. I shrugged.

"Well, listen guys, I need to talk to you, okay?"

"Okay." They chorused at the same time. I was so jealous of their twin hood.

"Okay. So, most boys like girls, but—"

"I hate girls!" Kyle yelled.

"Me too!"

"No, stop!" I shouted over them. "Listen, okay?"

"Okay."

"So…okay, so, I like boys, and—"

"Me too!" Keith said excitedly. "Boys rule, girls drool!"

"Boys rule, girls drool!" Kyle chimed in.

"No, guys—"

"Boys rule, girls drool! Boys rule, girls drool!" Morgan peeked around the door, and they immediately set upon her, shouting their new mantra. She started screaming. Sighing, I picked her up and tucked her under my arm. As I carried her out, I thought that maybe Chris had been smart not to try to explain all this to a kid.

* * *

I was full all day long. Full of…love? Happiness? I didn't think I could pin a word to the emotion I was feeling. Whatever it was, I was brimming over with it. It was a wild excitement. My family still loved me! I wanted to scream it down the hall. Luckily, I didn't. I got all the way to third period before reality hit me. I was at my locker, and it hit me hard. Someone shoved me from behind. I turned and came face to face with Snoddy.

"You faggot." He said, his stinking breath in my face. He left me shaking against my locker. When I got to my third period English class, I was still trembling. I had English with Specs, and when I walked in, he turned away from me. I dropped my head to my desk. My day had started so well.

* * *

I didn't even look for my friends at lunch. I took my brown bag lunch over to a vacant table by the window and sat alone, for the first time in my entire life. Even if I never had a million friends, I'd always had James and Mike. Not anymore. Is that what came with finding out who you really are? You lost all your friends? _Some tradeoff,_ I thought.

"Snitch." I looked up to see Jack. His hair was still as shiny as that first day I'd met him. "Can I sit?" He asked. I shrugged, clenching my hands in my lap so I wouldn't stick my thumb in my mouth.

"Listen," he started. "All the guys have read what you wrote in the notebook." His voice was low and apologetic. "Snoddy…um, he wasn't really okay with it."

"I know," I interrupted. "He made that pretty clear to me today." I winced a little.

"He hurt ya?"

"Um…not really." I shrugged again and Jack nodded.

"Well, listen, why don't you come on over to the table? The guys want to talk to you."

"Specs doesn't," I told him. "I just had class with him and he wouldn't even look at me."

"Yeah, well, we've all been working things out. Okay? Come on." He picked up my lunch, so I really had no choice but to follow him. The birds were back in my stomach, but now it felt like they weren't content with just fluttering in my stomach—they wanted out.

I kept my head down as we approached the table. I heard the babble stop and be replaced with low murmurs. Jack clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"Well, look who the Cowboy dragged in."

No one said anything. Jack exhaled loudly.

"Okay," he began. "Here's how I see it, fellahs. Snitch here, he's the only one who was really brave enough to…I don't know, _embrace_ his true self, and maybe we should all foll—"

"Ah, Jack, would you just shut up and let Snitch siddown? We're trying to play cards." Race broke in. Jack blinked once or twice, and I raised my head hopefully. No one seemed to have a problem with me, though Specs was giving me a bit of a sidelong glance. I searched the faces of the boys around me. They all seemed bored or annoyed, either at Jack for his haughty speeches or Race for stealing their money. But Skitts wasn't there.

"Where's Skitts?" I asked as I took a seat next to David. He shrugged.

"I haven't seen him all day."

"Really? Do you think he's gone or something?"

"I don't know. I never see him at school."

I shook my head a little. "Gee, thanks, David."

"No problem." He seemed to miss my sarcasm.

Things were mostly the same as they always were at our table, except for a few things—like the way Blink and Mush would catch each other's eye and smile stupidly, or the way Jack's arm rested comfortable on David's shoulder.

_What about me?_ I kept thinking huffily. _Me and Skitts were the ones who started the whole being in love thing! Where is he?_ But no matter how hard I thought and fantasized about him coming in and sweeping me into his arms, dipping me and kissing me, he never showed up.

* * *

Chris was packing when I got home. He had to leave the next morning, and Mom was threatening him with death if he didn't get a move-on. His idea of packing was to half-heartedly toss some socks into his waiting suitcase. Everyone knew Mom would pack for him later.

"Chris?" He grunted. "I…I told Mom and Dad. And Lindsey, but she said she already knew."

"And?"

"It was fine. They really seemed okay. I mean, Dad's still a little weird about it, but at least he's still, you know, Dad." I shrugged a little. Chris nodded thoughtfully.

"So…are you going to?" I asked him. He sighed.

"Not yet."

"But you have to leave tomorrow! We know they'll be okay with it, and—"

"Mitch. Who says just because they're getting used to the idea that they have a gay son, they'll be okay with _two_ of their sons being gay?"

"I'm sure it'll be fine. You were always their favorite anyway."

"Mitch, I just…_I'm_ not ready for it. Mom and Dad may be, but I'm not. Not yet. I will be, sometime, but not now."

"You promise, sometime you will?"

"Promise. I've got a great example, you know."

* * *

We had a big good-bye dinner for Chris, complete with mashed potatoes and rolls and the good china. Not to mention tears. My mom was like a faucet, and Morgan had insisted on sitting on Chris's lap all through the meal.

We were all watching a movie together afterward when someone knocked on the door.

"I'll get it," I said, as I was closest to the door and the least entangled. I tripped over a Barbie on the way and swore quietly, so my Mom wouldn't hear and lecture me. I opened the door, still hunched over and rubbing my big toe, so the first thing I saw was shoes. Shoes that I knew. I looked up to Skitts's face, that wonderful, perfect face with his beautiful dark eyes and fantastic hair. Having him so close to me was almost painful, and I couldn't bear the thought of him being angry with me.

"I'm sorry!" I blurted out. "I'm sorry I yelled at you and pushed you away and I'm sorry I'm horrible and awful and—"

"What are you talking about?" He broke in.

"I…well, the other day. I told you to leave me alone and I swore at you, and I don't even remember what I said, but I know I was awful to you. Do you hate me?" I ended pathetically. He stared at me, contemplating his answer.

"You think you can get rid of me that easily?" He asked playfully. "Think again, boy."

"You…you don't hate me?"

"Mitchell Thomas, I could never hate you. You're the air I need, remember?"

I have never had such an insane urge to kiss another human being as I did right then. I was blushing and grinning crazily. Skitts, as always, took care of everything. He tipped forward and kissed me.

It wasn't a passionate kiss, or a long kiss. It wasn't the kind of kiss from a movie, either. It was a short kiss. It was a chaste kiss. It was a clumsy, fourteen-year-old, first-boyfriend kiss.

It was a perfect kiss.

* * *

I want to just thank all my readers again. You guys are the best! 


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